


What Makes an Angel Good?

by humanshapedstress



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Denial of Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending, Good Omens Big Bang 2019, Hedonist Aziraphale (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Seriously so much Alcohol it takes a lot of alcohol to effect an angel/demon, Slowburn-like Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanshapedstress/pseuds/humanshapedstress
Summary: Aziraphale desperately wants to be a Good angel, and he really tries hard to be one. But it's not easy to be a Good angel when you're filled with questions that, when let loose, turn into doubts. He'll keep on trying though, because as long as he tries, he’s still a Good angel, right? As long as he follows orders, he's still a Good angel, right? As long as there's a reason to anything he does, he's still a Good angel, right? As long as he doesn’t give into temptation, he’s still a Good angel, right?Right?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 53
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was created for the Good Omens Big Bang 2019!  
> Cover art by the very talented eliod-art!  
> There's also a podfic by the absolutely amazing xofemeraldstars!  
> 

Aziraphale is a Good angel. He always has been. It’s not a hard task. He loves his job, his role in the plans, and he loves the other angels and the Almighty. He feels blessed -- he technically is blessed -- but means it in a more emotional way.

So, when some angels rebelled he can’t understand why, even throughout and after the war. Apparently neither does anyone else because every time he asks why they rebelled, why they fought, he’s given the same answers. Some say it’s because they disagreed with the Almighty. Some say it’s because of the humans that were going to be created. Some don’t answer the question, and they dismiss him and send him back to his duties.

When he asks how to avoid Falling, they respond, “Don’t worry about it. Just do the right thing. Do some Good. Do what comes naturally to you.” Those answers don’t ease Aziraphale. After all, what if what was natural to the demons was what made them Fall? He continues to ask, waiting to hear a different answer, waiting to feel satisfied and to stop fearing that he may Fall. The repetitive answers turn into orders, which turn into thinly veiled annoyances and threats.

“Just go back to your job.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Go ask them yourself if you care so much.”

“Do you want to join them?”

Aziraphale notices how the angels begin to crack down on him. His workload is doubled, and soon after tripled, until he is so busy he is often isolated from talking with others. He thinks it’s a weak attempt to help him, steer him towards the right path. He hopes it’s that at least, because the only other reason he can think of is that all of the jobs and responsibilities are just a way to keep him busy so he can’t ask more questions. It doesn’t matter in the end though, because it backfires. They start to crack down on him, giving him more jobs, more responsibilities, to the point where he is often isolated from talking with the others. Maybe it’s an attempt to help him and steer him towards the right path, or maybe it’s just a way to keep him busy so he can’t ask more questions. Either way, it backfires.

As annoyed as the others are for receiving so many questions, Aziraphale starts getting annoyed at receiving so many orders. What starts with more responsibilities tumbles towards being told what to do, how to act. It gets to the point where he gets told how to think and finally snaps.

Michael keeps Aziraphale busy with menial tasks, and pairs him with another lesser angel. Aziraphale tries to make conversation again but the angel does not appreciate the effort. They start a long, repetitive lecture. “Remember, we are here to carry out the roles given to us Aziraphale. We are important pieces to the Great Plan, and we must keep our thoughts full of our duty.”

Aziraphale tries not to tense as he bites back, “So am I not allowed to think of anything but my tedious job?”

They both go silent. Aziraphale knows he’s gone too far. It is one thing to have a small scuffle with a fellow angel, but to call his job tedious? It’s practically the same as shouting, “I don’t believe the Almighty is right!”

He knows rumors start as he notices less angels interacting with him, and he can practically feel their calculating stares on his back. He starts to suspect some of the angels are going to hold good on their promise to send him down to Hell, and he feels his suspicions are about to be confirmed when at some point, while doing his job -- alone might he add -- he spots Gabriel striding towards him.

Gabriel is a big deal. He’s similar to the Almighty’s right-hand man, and he has many achievements from the war. The pit of dread in Aziraphale’s stomach feels heavier with every step Gabriel takes, and they maintain eye contact the entire time. He wonders what would feel worse, the physical pain as he Fell, or the emptiness that would follow as his tie to the Almighty was cut.

He approaches with an all-business smile and announces his presence with a firm, uncomfortable hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale tries not to sag under the pressure. “Aziraphale, how are you?”

“Gabriel, most holy Archangel Gabriel! I’m doing –”

“Great, great, that’s great. Listen, I’ve gotten a few reports about you. Lots of good work being accomplished but a lot of complaints about you as well.”

“O-oh? Is that so?”

“Unfortunately. I’ve heard that you’ve been asking a lot of questions lately, specifically about the… opposition. Even a ridiculous rumor has reached me that you are unhappy with your duty.”

Aziraphale hopes he isn’t shaking, and if he is, he certainly hopes that Gabriel can’t feel it through his hand still clamped like steel onto his shoulder. It takes a lot of effort to slowly pry open his mouth “Ah, yes. It’s nothing major, I just have a few questions –”

Gabriel sucks in a sharp breath as he released his vice-grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder and clasps his hands together. “See, that’s the problem Aziraphale. Questions mean you’re doubting the Almighty, and you aren’t doubting the Almighty, are you?”

Aziraphale can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Absolutely not! I was just—”

“Great! Listen, I’m glad to hear it because you know, we really can’t afford to lose anyone else right now. Oh, come to think of it, wasn’t that one of your questions?”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Why they Fell. That was a question you had, right?” Aziraphale struggles to maintain eye contact. No longer confident to speak clearly, he simply nods. “They were doubting the Almighty.”

Gabriel has hardly moved during the entire conversation and even now has a perfect calculated smile, not a flicker of emotion in his face. There is no malice, pity, irritation, or underlying threat in his words. He just states the facts, doing his duty, fighting for the greater good. Aziraphale used to admire him for it, a respectable boss who perfectly carried out his job. However, in this moment, Aziraphale feels he understands how any unfortunate demon must have felt as they came across Gabriel during the war.

“So, do you have any other questions Aziraphale?”

Terrified.

“No! No, not at all. Everything is for the Almighty after all!”

Gabriel genuinely smiles now. “Great, I’m glad to hear it. If you do have any lingering questions, please, come and talk to me.”

“Thank you, Gabriel, I most certainly will.” He silently adds a “not” to the end of his response. Gabriel is already walking away though, and Aziraphale is left standing by himself again.

Aziraphale stays quiet after “talking” -- if that could even be called a conversation -- with Gabriel. He still has questions, but he learns how to bury them, how to dismiss them. It’s hard at first, but it becomes easier with time. Why did some Fall? It doesn’t matter; they Fell. How can he avoid it? He doesn’t need to worry; he’s doing Good. Why aren’t questions allowed? Don’t ask that; there’s work to do.

His job becomes the best distraction to his questions. There’s something so mind-numbingly mundane about it, most likely the lack of a challenge. Aziraphale has never been slow. He’s always caught on quickly and is able to perform beyond efficiently, if he’s not distracted. Now that his main priority is to avoid being distracted and focus on his job, he excels at everything.

So, he’s terrified when he’s called to talk to Gabriel. He thought he was doing well. “I’ve gotten some more reports about you,” Gabriel starts, and Aziraphale can practically feel the Hellfire licking at his ankles, waiting. “All good things, and I’ve got to say, I’m impressed.”

Aziraphale blinks. “I, um, thank you?”

“You certainly have a lot of diligence, so I am pleased to tell you that you, Aziraphale, are going to be the Guardian of the Eastern Gate for Eden.” Aziraphale isn’t quite sure how he appears, but Gabriel must take it as a good sign as he continues on, “Exciting, I know! You’ll receive a body, and a flaming sword, and you’ll start your new duty tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s a new concept the Almighty created, a way of separating time into bits so that the humans can understand it.”

“No, I understand the new concept. I received the memo—”

“Great! You really are diligent, I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“Well, thank you, but I’m not sure I understand—”

“What would you need to understand?”

Gabriel’s tone never shifts. He never moves, and yet his question makes Aziraphale freeze. He’s already walking on a tightrope, and Gabriel has watched him for any suspicious movements, waiting for him to Fall. Aziraphale’s mind races. Receiving this position is clearly a type of punishment in Heaven’s eyes, but how severe is it? What is he supposed to learn from this? Nevertheless, Aziraphale knows to play it safe. “I just want to make sure I understand all my duties. Don’t want to disappoint anyone!” He tries his best to smile. It feels shaky, but Gabriel buys it.

“You’ll be walked through all the details and be given your orders by Michael.” Aziraphale wants to groan. Not Michael “Do you have any other questions? Concerns?”

_Too many to count_ , Aziraphale thinks. “None at all,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a few days since Aziraphale was assigned his new duty, and he believes he’s doing well. It was never a hard job in the first place though. All he has to do is stand around and watch for anything amiss. That’s why even though it’s technically a promotion, declaring him a trustworthy person, most consider it a demotion, like having a note that says,“I’m useless at most things,” stuck to his forehead.

As such, the first day or two is spent vigilantly watching, performing his duty to the best of his abilities. He checks every nook and crevice, hopefully showing the others that he is capable. Then the rest of the days are spent with him getting lost in his own thoughts as he realizes that no one is really watching except for maybe the Almighty, but if the Almighty is watching then there wouldn’t be a need for guardians.

He watches the humans and the animals at first, but their behavior is predictable, and they mostly seem to relax in the Garden. So, he lets his mind wander, and it doesn’t take long to touch on topics that he’s buried away. He starts to wonder, why did he get demoted when he was doing a better job? What and how are the other guardians of the different gates doing? Why is it wrong to ask questions?

He’s standing on top of the wall looking out into the vast expanse of nothing, confident he’s figured out the answer to why he was demoted. Chances are it was because of all the questions he had asked before, a kind of not-punishment because Heaven doesn’t have punishments, Just strongly worded notes, passive aggressive comments, thinly veiled disdain, and so on.

Aziraphale is a little too caught up in remembering the passive aggressive behavior of Heaven, so he doesn’t even notice the snake poking up through the ground, or Eve getting closer to the tree. He can feel the minute the apple gets plucked. He whirls around and pinpoints the scene, the sinner with the apple in her hand mere milliseconds away from being bitten. He’s too far away to stop her, to conjure up a miracle.

“Ah,” he chokes out as she bites down, and even from thousands of feet away, the crisp sound rings crystal clear in his ears. “I’m on apple tree duty today.”

Afterwards, everything seems to happen quickly, or perhaps Aziraphale is just in a state of shock and panic. Either way, his thoughts jumble and jump around as he watches the two humans start to leave the Garden, and he knows he can’t just leave them to die. He rushes down the wall to meet them, and hands them the sword. Aziraphale realizes he’ll be in more trouble when Heaven finds out what he did, but he knows that whatever he will have to suffer will be worth saving the humans. 

While there aren’t any punishments in Heaven, Aziraphale doesn’t doubt they won’t come up with something for this level of incompetence. Either there will be a mountain of paperwork waiting for him, or they’ll come up with some new way to torture him.

He wonders if they’ll make him Fall for this, if this is the final straw. They’ll probably kick him out with a sigh of relief. It bothers him that he can so easily imagine it, him falling downwards, burning alive, a trail of embers and smoke following him. His coworkers would watch at first but quickly move on. Talk of what happened to him would last for maybe an hour before he would be forgotten just like all the other Fallen.

Like some twisted sign, the Fallen that caused this entire mess crawls up next to him. What was the protocol for that? Aziraphale can’t tell if he’s supposed to try and smite the demon for getting close to the Garden, or if he should try and be nice to his, possibly, new coworker. In fact, does it matter that he was a demon? As an angel, he should be nice to everyone, right? Aziraphale glances over at the now human-shaped demon and— oh.

He was quite pretty.

Aziraphale shakes the thought out of his mind, quickly rationalizing it away. In the war he faced quite a number of demons, and it was clear there was a pattern to how their faces morphed after they Fell. While the idea of disappointing the other angels, the Almighty, and everyone was a strong deterrent to Falling, the sight of the demons themselves certainly helped. It was hard to imagine that one wouldn’t be in constant pain just by the looks of some of them. So of course, by comparison, this demon is adequate to look at.

Aziraphale is too caught up in his thoughts to realize the demon is waiting for a response. “Sorry, what was that?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t seem flustered.

“I said, ‘Well, that one went down like a lead balloon.’”

Aziraphale feels a bit irked. Did this demon just come to gloat? “Oh. Yes, it did, rather.”

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything. And I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.”

That was an unexpected response. Aziraphale is shocked and elated to finally find someone who also asks questions and seems willing to hold a conversation. However, it’s hard to ignore that he’s a demon with his serpentine eyes, and it feels a little like looking into a possible future. He can almost hear Gabriel’s voice, calm and collected, telling him that the demons who Fell doubted the Almighty. “Well it must  _ be _ bad er…”

“Crawley.”

“Crawley. Otherwise you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” It’s easy to continue the conversation, and it’s almost as easy to prattle off everything he had told himself since Gabriel talked to him. Best not to speculate, what is right and what is wrong. He’s in the middle of explaining that there were certain things that were not for angels or demons to understand when he’s interrupted.

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

“Er…” It’s not like Aziraphale could just tell him. It’s another step closer to Falling. However, not telling the truth is like lying, which is also undesirable. Crawley pushes him a little further, and there’s something about his tone. It doesn’t sound accusatory but rather like actual curiosity. It’s not like Crawley can talk to any of the angels either. “I gave it away” he mumbles, half-hopeful Crawley can’t hear him.

“You what?” Crawley seems incredulous, and if anything, Aziraphale doesn’t want to lie to at least just one person. 

The truth comes spilling out along with how he felt compassion for the humans and his worries about doing the wrong thing which Crawley did not ask about. He waits for him to start laughing, telling him how foolish he was. When Crowley comforts him, with sarcasm laced in his words sure but comfort nonetheless, and confides his worries as well, Aziraphale feels tension run out and relief flood in. He wonders if this is what having a friend is like.

As the first rain starts to pour over them Aziraphale lifts a wing to shelter Crawley. The cold water falls and feels quite refreshing. As Crawley shuffles just a bit closer to him, Aziraphale’s chest warms. He reasons it’s the inner Good in him reacting to Evil being so close by. However, it’s not an unpleasant feeling so he lets it linger, and sure enough when they part, so does the feeling. Aziraphale takes that as confirmation of his theory and prepares to meet with the other angels.

They call for a meeting not long after Aziraphale finishes patching up the wall to the Garden. Aziraphale still can’t tell if he should be preparing for a meeting or for a trial. When he learns the meeting is just Gabriel and him, he starts to feel faint. Every step he takes feels like walking towards a cliff that drops straight into a pit of boiling sulfur. Actually being in front of Gabriel makes him feel like he may as well be dead. “Hello Gabriel.”

Gabriel has a look of disappointment on his face, maybe a touch of regret. “Aziraphale. I heard about the whole Garden business. What happened?”

“Well, you see—”

“How horrible. I imagine that demon must have been very crafty to even get away from you afterwards.”

Aziraphale is careful to not let his emotions show on his face or twitch in any way that might give him away, but it feels like it’s all in vain. “Ah, yes. The crafty demon made a quick escape after completing their duty.”

Gabriel just watches him, something akin to pity flashing in his eyes. “Well. We can’t just let this go I’m afraid.” Aziraphale tries not to flinch. He’s not sure if he succeeds. “So, Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, you have been assigned to watch over the humans on Earth until the Earth is destroyed, effective immediately.”

“… What?”

Gabriel sighs, “I know it’s a large… demotion, and it will be difficult to be away from Heaven for so long. However, your incompetence for the incident at Eden cannot stand without consequence. Now the humans have been made to roam Earth, and we have good reason to believe that the opposition have sent someone to influence them towards evil. It will be your job to positively influence the humans.”

The “incompetence” part would have stung quite a bit, but Aziraphale is still too confused to really register it. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I still don’t fully understand. What am I doing? Am I, am I trying to find this demon? Should I be talking to the humans?”

“Aziraphale, this is a demotion, not torture. We wouldn’t force you to interact with the humans. While it would be useful if you could keep track of the demon’s movements, it would be unfortunate if you were found, so maintain your distance.” Aziraphale furrows his brow, and Gabriel sighs in frustration. “Just create some miracles, guide humanity towards the better path, and report back to us occasionally. There’s not much more you have to do other than that. Alright?”

“Um—”

“ _ Alright _ ?”

Aziraphale bites back his other questions. “Yes, yes of course.”

The usual all-business smile snaps back onto Gabriel’s face, “Great. You’ll be sent down soon so take care of any business you might have. Make sure to wrap it all up in a day.” And with that, Gabriel turns heel and strides out of the room, leaving Aziraphale standing by himself feeling lost.


	3. Chapter 3

While it’s Bad that the humans sinned and ate the apple, Aziraphale can’t help but be amazed as he watches the humans develop and create. At first, he reports everything the humans do, good or bad, and what he thinks of them. He realizes the Angels really don’t care when he brings up the creation of alcohol. Aziraphale thinks it’s a brilliant invention, especially after trying some.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel interrupts, again, “you tried some of this, alcohol?”

Aziraphale is silent for a moment, startled, as he was under the impression that the angels only really “listened” to him but didn’t pay any attention. “Yes, I did. It pairs nicely with—”

“Aziraphale, I told you we aren’t forcing you to interact with the humans, much less consume any of their material…” He struggles to find the right word, “foodstuff.”

Aziraphale quickly realizes it may not be a good idea to mention how he had been curious and wanted to try it. “Well, yes, but I thought if I understood them better, I could help guide them.”

Gabriel looks confused, “That’s wonderful Aziraphale, but why would you need to understand them? They’re just humans.”

Based on Gabriel’s expression, Aziraphale knows to keep his mouth shut about enjoying the human rituals. “Right, of course, but without understanding them, and participating in their, uh, rituals, they become suspicious of me. I want to do my best in guiding them, which will be harder if they doubt me.” Gabriel looks like he’s about to say something again, so he quickly tacked on, “Anything to help with the Great Plan.”

Gabriel goes quiet for a moment, then hesitantly says, “Well, it’s unbefitting of an angel to participate in human rituals. However, you’re truly going above and beyond what we expected. Keep up the good work Aziraphale.” He looks a little pale, and Aziraphale wonders if eating and drinking is truly that repulsive.

As Aziraphale heads back to Earth, he makes a note to start reporting only the miracles and jobs he’s completed. It would make his job much easier as well, not so much time upstairs, more time on Earth, which was preferable anyway. Aziraphale does his best not to linger on that fact.

Based on how Gabriel informed him of his “demotion”, and how everyone he encountered upstairs reacted with eyes of pity, being on Earth was one of the worst things that an angel could go through. So, when Aziraphale first went down to Earth he was expecting a dreadful experience that would last a very long time, even for a celestial being.

He’s stiff and uptight for the first few years, about five hundred. He follows his orders, completes every job perfectly, makes detailed reports, and interacts with the humans to find out how best to carry out his job. Of course, after five hundred years he realizes it’s likely that no one is watching him. Back upstairs, they always look bored, waiting to be free from his reports. . Aziraphale always pretends he doesn’t notice, just like he pretends it doesn’t hurt. The only other time they pay attention to him is if they come down to check on him. They always give forewarning before actually coming down anyway, a letter appearing in his belongs telling him to prepare for a short check-in, emphasis on the short.

Aziraphale chooses to focus on the positive. He allows himself to cut back a bit, relax more. He starts trying human delicacies and interacts with their cultures. He enjoys all of it. Even when he doesn’t particularly enjoy something, just the act of trying something without being questioned is nice. Aziraphale, dare he think it, feels free and is honestly quite happy living on Earth. 

That is, until he learns from head office about the Flood. He tries to divert it at first, implores Gabriel to think about what would be lost with the Flood. Gabriel just looks at him and asks, “This is from the Almighty. Are you doubting the Almighty, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale is transported back to the first time Gabriel confronted him as he feels fear wrack his body. He can imagine himself Falling with perfect clarity, almost able to feel the wind rushing past him on the way down. “Not at all, I would never.”

Back on Earth, Aziraphale carries out his duties diligently and does his best not to question it or think about it. That proves harder to do when he bumps into Crawley again while he’s watching the Ark. While he’s still quite pretty, and it’s nice to talk to someone, Aziraphale can’t feel very happy about seeing him again, wrapped up in guilt from his job. It doesn’t help that the demon pelts him with questions.

He asks questions about the sword laced with sarcasm that cuts like a knife and questions about the Ark that Aziraphale wishes he couldn’t answer. He tries his best not to wince as Crawley’s questions match the one’s he asked Gabriel. He distantly wonders if this is what his superiors felt with all the questions he asked, annoyed because of the guilt the questions bring. Then he remembers their constant words, “All for the Greater Good,” and dismisses the thought. They were most likely too busy to even listen, and Aziraphale wants to be different, he wants to be kind to all, including demons.

He answers Crawley’s questions and wants to cry at the pure horror on his face. A demon feels repulsed by what is happening, what Aziraphale has helped cause. He tries not to flinch as Crawley jabs more questions at him and feels like getting a bottle of alcohol, or ten. The sky cries for him as the first few raindrops begin to fall, but it doesn’t feel like the refreshing coolness from the first rain, and Crawley does not shuffle closer to Aziraphale.

* * *

They bump into each other again at Jesus’s crucifixion, and Aziraphale wonders briefly if he has perhaps been cursed so that they can only meet in unfortunate circumstances. Crawley points out what they both know is true, that the demons have nothing to do with the man nailed to the cross. Aziraphale had to have known, perhaps helped with what they were watching. Aziraphale tries to defend himself, tells Crawley that he’s not consulted on policy decisions, but the hammer blows and screams of pain make his defense hollow.

Crawley thankfully changes the discussion topic briefly to inform Aziraphale that he’s changed his name to Crowley. Personally, Aziraphale likes it. The lulls in their conversation are filled with cries of pain, and Aziraphale decides possibly getting hurt by questions from the demon would be better than listening so intensely to the screams. “Did you ever meet him?” he asks Crowley.

“Yes. Seemed a very bright young man. I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

That surprises Aziraphale. It was a nice thing to do, which is unexpected to say the least. “Why?”

“He’s a carpenter from Galilee. His travel opportunities are limited.” Another dull thud and a loud cry of pain. “That’s got to hurt. What was it he said that got everyone so upset?”

“Be kind to one another.”

“Oh, yeah. That’ll do it.”

Aziraphale sits in his home, head filled with questions that are a combination of Crowley’s and his, the ringing of an innocent man’s painful screaming colliding with the utter chaos of it all. He feels heavy with guilt and anger at feeling guilty. He did the right thing, he did his job, he was working according to the Great Plan. The painful reality of that meant that a demon showed a young man the world while “his lot,” as Crowley had so eloquently phrased it, created the plan to put him on a cross. The image of Crowley accusing him settles into the forefront of his mind, of Crowley seeming disappointed in him, and he feels like getting a drink.

He stands up and checks around his house for a drink to no avail. He tries not to curse as he remembers that he got rid of his entire stock after Upstairs had found out about the last batch, when he drowned himself in alcohol after the flood.

He had woken up the next morning surrounded by empty bottles, a headache, and a pristine white envelope on this desk with his name printed on it in gold. Aziraphale sighed as he miracled away the headache and opened the letter. Inside was a long-winded, passive aggressive note that Aziraphale took the time to read, but summed up it said: “We’ve looked into what alcohol is on your suggestion and believe it to be a vice to sin. As such, please limit your intake of said beverage unless absolutely necessary.”

Aziraphale got rid of his collection immediately fearing a surprise inspection, although it had never happened before, and the chances of it happening were low. He couldn’t risk it though, and as such gave away every jug and bottle he had to humans he had become acquainted with, and then moved towns to the site of his next job. While it was for the Greater Good, he was quite upset with having to part with it. He was quite proud of his collection.

Now, Aziraphale feels a little bitter as he is stressed, tired, and just wants a small drink to wash down the guilt he feels. He can’t just miracle a drink because that would be noticed and then someone would send another note, or worse.

That’s when an idea strikes him. If he doesn’t miracle alcohol, they won’t question him. So, anything else is really on the table. If he can to miracle himself out of town to somewhere where nobody recognized him, Upstairs won’t be able to say anything. Aziraphale smiles and muses to himself, “There really is something to doing things the human way.” He snaps his fingers and appears in the outskirts of the next town, out of sight to humans, and off the radar from Upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale sits in a bar alone in Rome eight years after the crucifixion. He gets quite comfortable with them and tries all sorts of new cuisines as well. What starts as an escape and a slight act of defiance turns into something he does on the regular because he enjoys it. What starts with just bars expands into restaurants, and he becomes a regular at several of them. 

Being a regular in several establishments allows him to know some of the other regulars in each establishment. Everyone from well-known, rich, and powerful humans, to those who had given up and spent all their time in the cheapest bars. Aziraphale gathers information from all of them, sometimes through direct conversation, other times from eavesdropping. It helps him understand what humans need and what they want, what miracles would be helpful versus what would just be a temporary fix as well as who needs a miracle versus who just wants one.

He doesn’t tell Upstairs about his escapades because Upstairs doesn’t care about the details of how a job is completed. He can already hear Gabriel. “Aziraphale, your work is commendable but unneeded. They’re just humans, easy to impress and temporary.” It irritates Aziraphale to even think about it. If he is going to do this job, he may as well do it right and help the humans. He isn’t too worried about being caught either. He already has multiple replies for very specific scenarios, and he’s confident he could explain all his actions if he was caught. He doesn’t want to risk it though, so he keeps vigilant.

He decides that his vigilance is the reason why, even over the din of people in the bar, he can identify Crowley’s voice so clearly. It would be the first time they had seen each other since the crucifixion. He decides to walk over and call out. Aziraphale’s quite pleased to bump into someone he knows and perhaps be able to talk to an otherworldly being who also enjoys human traditions. However, as he sits next to him, he sees how tired Crowley looks. He tries to crack a joke to lift his spirits. “Still a demon then?”

“What kind of stupid question is that, ‘Still a demon’? What else am I going to be, an aardvark?” Crowley snaps back.

It’s, funnily enough, familiar and reminiscent of being in Heaven again with angels snapping at him to stop with his incessant questions. They sit together in silence for a moment, and Aziraphale gets to take a good look at Crowley where he realizes his first judgement of him was wrong. Crowley doesn’t look tired; he looks exhausted, fed up with the world and barely hanging onto something. Perhaps a shred of sanity? He doesn’t dare call it hope because as Gabriel said, what demon could possibly hope?

Nevertheless, Aziraphale takes it upon himself to try and cheer him up. As an angel, he should be kind to all. As himself, he doesn’t like Crowley looking so sullen. When they toast Crowley almost looks guilty for snapping at Aziraphale, and for Aziraphale that’s reason enough to try. He tries to start more conversation. “In Rome long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation. You?” Crowley’s voice is just a bit lighter and open.

While Aziraphale has technically come to Rome to inspire Nero, he doesn’t feel like talking about work. “I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”

Aziraphale is surprised for a moment and almost affronted the next. It would be one thing if Crowley was like other otherworldly beings that don’t “partake in human rituals.” However, this was Crowley, a demon drinking alcohol in a bar who doesn’t even question Aziraphale trying a restaurant, or being in a bar drinking with him. So not trying everything humans have to offer was a shame. It could also raise Crowley’s spirits some to try something new.

Aziraphale stares at Crowley for a second and decides to test his luck at trying something new himself. “Oh.” That doesn’t catch his attention, “Oh, well let me tempt you to—” Crowley swivels around quickly. That got his attention. Aziraphale would be lying if he says is isn’t a little pleased. “Oh, no. No, that’s- that’s your job, isn’t it?” He gives a small smile as Crowley continues to just stare at him. His gaze quickly becomes a little uncomfortable, and Aziraphale suddenly finds his drink very interesting and takes a sip.

After they finish their drinks, they head to the restaurant together. They trade stories of what they’ve been doing as they eat, and Crowley seems to loosen up more. Aziraphale starts telling him about one of the bars he was in where two humans had started fighting and how he had, perhaps foolishly, tried to intervene but ended up having to use a minor miracle to avoid the drink that was thrown at him. Crowley smiles, or rather smirks, as Aziraphale tells his story, and it seems genuine.

However, Aziraphale’s pretty sure he’s had too much to drink or perhaps a bad oyster because the warm feeling in his chest suddenly sparks back to life. It is unmistakably the same sensation from when he first met Crowley on the wall of the Garden. He remembers his original theory, about how it is him sensing Evil nearby and almost feels embarrassed at how blatantly wrong it obviously is. Otherwise, he would have felt the same thing back when they met at the Ark, or during the crucifixion. This new finding absolutely destroys his original theory about it being a sense for evil.

He wonders what the true cause is, and his mind starts to wander. For once, he stops asking quite soon after he starts. He wouldn’t be able to get a clear answer. If he told Upstairs, Upstairs would have to know that Aziraphale has met Crowley, and yet didn’t try to stop him or discorporate him. He’s not supposed to ask questions anyway. He buries the questions and instead focuses on Crowley as he starts telling his own stories. 

* * *

Aziraphale wanders around in the fog with a horse and a human. He’s searching for the rumored black knight in Wessex, a very important responsibility. He’s also definitely not focusing on the task at hand. His mind is elsewhere. Since he and Crowley had met in Rome, he has developed some new theories for the warm feeling in his chest. The most substantial is that the demon may be trying to tempt him. The warm feeling was a type warning of when he was giving into temptation. He had felt it both times he’d done acts of kindness to him, sheltering him on the wall and treating him in Rome. As such, as long as Aziraphale keeps his guard up and isn’t swayed, the warm feeling won’t be a problem.Although most substantial it’s also the most unlikely, at least to Aziraphale. He doesn’t think Crowley would go through all the effort of tempting Aziraphale like that. Perhaps he is thinking too highly of the demon and being too trusting, but isn’t that in an angel’s nature? To think highly of all, to trust all, to love all?

Aziraphale’s tired of thinking. And of walking in conditions where he is practically blinded. He lifts his helmet and starts calling out because anything would be easier than going in circles like he currently is. He supposes he’s lucky as an unsavory looking fellow appears out of the dense fog and beckons him forward. Aziraphale doesn’t quite trust him though. Not that he has much choice either way. He continues walking forward and follows the hunched over man. The black knight strides, or rather, awkwardly hobbles through the fog and announces himself, sounding menacing.

Aziraphale, however, recognizes the voice immediately. “Is that you under there Crawley?”

“Crowley,” he responds, exasperated as he lifts his helmet.

Aziraphale feels the warmth in his chest again. “What the hell are you playing at?"

They talk for a little bit, explaining what each of them is doing there. Crowley points out that they’re just cancelling each other out, and while it’s true, Aziraphale doesn’t love putting it like that. Then Crowley suggests the plan that they both just stay at home and send reports back that they did their jobs. Aziraphale has, unfortunately, a hard time arguing why they shouldn’t, especially since he just wants to get out of Wessex, dry off, and have a nice cup of tea.

“Michael’s a…” Aziraphale has a hard time not cursing, “bit of a stickler. You don’t want to get Gabriel upset with you.”

“Oh, our lot have better things to do than verifying compliance reports from Earth. As long as they get the paperwork, they seem happy enough. As long as you’re being seen to be doing something every now and again.”

It sounds tempting, and then Aziraphale thinks about what would happen if they should be caught. The warm feeling in his chest is extinguished, and he can practically feel Gabriel looming over them as he remembers his job, his duty, his side. “No! Absolutely not! I am shocked that you would even imply such a thing. We’re not having this conversation. Not another word.” He whirls around and stomps away.

Back in his home, Aziraphale realizes his theory is disproved. Which leaves the one other option, a very improbable idea. Even when fighting the idea Crowley suggested, the warm feeling persisted. Every time it happens, Aziraphale notices that the warmth in his chest is similar to when he senses love. Specifically, love directed towards him. So, there is a chance, a very small chance, that Crowley might love him.

It’s a small chance though because one, Aziraphale is himself. He does not see himself as a particularly interesting being. He’s certain the reason Crowley talks with him is because there isn’t anyone else to talk to, much less enjoy food and drink with. The second reason is because Crowley is a demon, and demons can’t feel positive emotions. Every angel knows that, and Gabriel himself confirmed it to Aziraphale right after the Flood.

It seems strange to Aziraphale that Crowley is so compassionate and caring of the humans. It’s completely out of character for a demon. So, after he finishes giving his annual report to Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon, he gathers his courage and asks if redemption is possible for a demon.

At first, he got surprised faces, then a snicker, and then a few barely contained chortles. “Aziraphale,” Gabriel started with an already tired grin, “demons are, by definition of their very being, incapable of achieving anything much less redemption. It’s not like they’d even want it.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true for most of them, but what if some, or even just one, wants redemption?”

Now Michael spoke up as if talking to a child, “If they wanted to be an angel, then they wouldn’t have thrown it away in the first place, now would they?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, “Maybe, maybe they didn’t realize what they were doing. Maybe after they Fell, they realized they were wrong and wanted to come back!”

The slight mirth had gone out of Gabriel’s voice, “They can’t ‘feel’ anything Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tried very hard not to feel small, to no avail. “We can’t possibly know that. We aren’t demons ourselves, and no one has ever talked to a demon just to ask question-”

“Enough Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice boomed out and reverberated in Aziraphale’s ears. Gabriel’s tired grin had tightened “You don’t ask questions. You’re an angel. We don’t doubt the Almighty, and we don’t try and sympathize with the enemy. There’s nothing to sympathize with. Just do your little duties on Earth, spread Good and defeat Evil, and report back to us, okay?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Aziraphale nodded, feeling like he had just lost an unwinnable battle.

Gabriel looked like he wanted to sigh, but instead rearranged his face into his usual business smile that made Aziraphale uncomfortable. “Glad you understand. Now I’d head back to Earth, make sure everything is running smoothly.”

Aziraphale found it wise not to respond, instead he just nodded curtly and started to leave.

“Oh, and Aziraphale?”

He paused and turned around.

“Remember, angels don’t ask questions.”


	5. Chapter 5

It’s around 1000 AD when they find each other for what feels like the 100 th time (it was only the 86 th ), still cancelling each other out. Aziraphale finally decides he’s had enough. So when Crowley brings up the idea of the Arrangement againmet, Aziraphale says “Well we shouldn’t talk about it now or here,” and Crowley is pleasantly surprised.

That night they both check to make sure no one is watching, and then they slip off to a tiny village in Europe where they grab several bottles of wine and check into the only inn in town. They set themselves up at the shabby little wooden table in the room, the only light coming from a lit candle in a lantern on the table and the moonlight passing through the window. Even though otherworldly beings can drink far more alcohol than a human, opening a bottle of wine each seems a little gratuitous, so they settle on only opening one at a time, and with no glasses available they find themselves passing the bottle between them.

It only takes one bottle to get the basics of the Arrangement hammered out. Another two bottles are dead after they finish going through the little details and worries and sudden second thoughts, mostly from Aziraphale, about how it could all go wrong. A fourth bottle is finished after they’re done talking about backup plans. A fifth one is consequently opened as they start talking about what they’ve been up to since they last saw each other, a couple of temptings, a couple of miracles. A few bits of gossip about their respective sides were let loose on accident, but which were then talked about thoroughly. They’re six and a half bottles deep when their conversation finally lulls, and Aziraphale feels quite satisfied.

Although Aziraphale has spent many years on Earth, and has found quite a few things he likes, the feeling of satisfaction is rare for him. There’s usually always another task to do, another miracle to perform, another job to work on. The closest he gets to the feeling is when he’s eating some good food, has some good alcohol, or enjoying fine arts. True satisfaction and happiness warms his heart.

The realization of the warm feeling in his chest has Aziraphale thinking about his latest theory again. It’s like a clue making the theory of Crowley loving him seem just a little more real. There is no real way to test it other than ask, and he is ever-so-slightly drunk, so it seems like a good idea. He grabs the wine bottle sitting on the table, takes a large swig before passing it to Crowley, finally asking, “Do you love me?”

The bottle almost slips through Crowley’s fingers and after an impressive amount of juggling, he looks him in the eyes, stunned. “W-what?” Aziraphale doesn’t have a chance to respond though, as Crowley suddenly lets out a harsh laugh, a sharp explosion of sound that sounds like it would have hurt the back of one’s throat to produce. He smirks, but it doesn’t look like his usual all-knowing grin. This one seems too sharp, too forced, like someone is stretching his face. “Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh, angel?”

The pleasant feeling suddenly leaves, and the warmth in his chest snuffs out like a candle flame turning to smoke. He feels the tendrils gather in his lungs and come out tasting of sorrow as he laughs in return and mumbles, “I suppose so.” He rips the bottle back out of Crowley’s loose grip and takes a good gulp before giving it back.

Crowley takes the bottle and pauses. “Why’d you wanna know anyway?” he asks before swallowing another mouthful or two.

Aziraphale is for the first time in a long time at a loss for words and out of ideas. What is he supposed to say? “Oh I just get this very pleasant feeling whenever you’re around, and it feels very similar to love, and I know you can’t feel love but the only explanation I could come up with was ‘he must love me,’ so I just thought I’d ask?” That’s a horrible way of putting it.

“Well, demons can’t feel love, that much is true.” Aziraphale blinks. Could demons read minds as well? Crowley just stares at him and raises an eyebrow. “You know you’re speakin’ out loud right?”

“Oh,” he says sheepishly. Crowley wordlessly passes the bottle back over to him, and he gratefully takes it and proceeded to down a fourth of the bottle.

“I don’t think I even know what love feels like,” Crowley whispers. Aziraphale pretends not to hear it over the sound of him drinking.

The Arrangement is fairly straightforward, and while there are a few kinks in the plan here and there, they work it out. Having the Arrangement actually helps to see why they keep on running into each other. They both do their jobs, spreading some Good, causing some chaos, and then their respective head offices notice there was more Good or Evil in some place and send their respective delegates out to solve the problem. This makes the Arrangement easier, as long as they talk about their plans for each place.

* * *

The Arrangement is straightforward in concept; one of them heads to where they’re usually both assigned, and they perform both a miracle and a misdeed. However, when the Arrangement is put into action, it’s a bit harder to follow. Crowley, as it turns out, is good at performing miracles, and he already has ideas of his own on what to do. Aziraphale, on the other hand, knows he isn’t good at doing Evil Deeds and is quite proud of it, making it extremely hard for the Arrangement to work. His first couple of attempts are him trying to emulate the seven deadly sins.

Aziraphale first tries to tempt humans into being greedy. To his dismay, this is incredibly easy, and he’s very good at it. He is currently trying to convince a leader of a small town to be greedy, but nothing that could cause harm to the people. “You see, by demanding the people’s alcohol supply and entertainment supply, you’ll prevent them from making bad decisions in the future.”

The leader seems thoughtful, “Perhaps, but even if you’re right, not everyone will be happy about this.”

“This is for the greater good of everyone. By asking for more luxuries from your people, you’re helping them from indulging in too much and becoming complacent.”

“I believe you’re right.” Aziraphale almost smiles. If he wasn’t so troubled about being an angel doing Evil’s work, he’d be thrilled that it worked so smoothly. “I’ll start drafting up a new plan immediately, we will also raise the cost of food supplies, so it limits their ability to buy anything other than the bare essentials for food.”

Aziraphale almost chokes on air. It seems his plan works a little too smoothly. “Well, isn’t that a bit drastic sir—"

He doesn’t seem to really be listening to Aziraphale anymore, and instead is pondering this new idea. “Nonsense, have more confidence in your plan.”

“Well, thank you, however, food isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity.”

He isn’t sure if he should even continue of not, as it’s clear there’s no changing his mind and he has already left to draft up this new plan. Aziraphale quickly and quietly leaves and repairs the situation by enlightening a bold, strong, young person, who believes in equality and fairness and is brave enough to fight for it.

Crowley can’t stop laughing once he hears. “You had to thwart your own temptation,” he says between bouts of laughter.

Aziraphale is quite happy that they met at Crowley’s current base of operations which is isolated on the outskirts of a large town as his laughing will surely cause a scene anywhere else. “Oh, well I’m sure you’re doing a great job of being Good, hm?”

Crowley stops laughing, but still has a large grin on his face. “I convinced a family to believe in the Almighty and go to church more often. Their family will continue to go to church, and it will be a tradition in their family for generations to come.”

Aziraphale is stunned speechless. It’s something small enough to not cause large waves, but big enough to be noticed and counted by head office. It’s perfect for slipping by unnoticed. Crowley notices his silence. “I was an angel at one point. I know how to do your job.”

The tension in the air was palpable. “Well, what do you suggest I do then?”

“Well for starters, maybe don’t try to go so big. The whole point is to go unnoticed, you know. Also, don’t fix the messes you create.” He finishes the sentence with a mischievous grin and a barely contained chortle. Aziraphale just huffs and grabs a bottle of wine off the table.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the course of a century, Aziraphale continues to try and find a style of temptation that he can achieve. He decides to try and imitate Crowley and each attempt fails miserably. He tries to drive humans to annoyances that cause them to fight with each other, but they always end up happy and working together quite well. He, sheepishly, asks Crowley for advice on how he does it.

“It might help if you stopped giving them solutions to their problems,” Crowley points out, looking caught between laughing and being exasperated.

“Yes, I realize that,” Aziraphale snips back. “It’s hard not to be Good you know. Why don’t they give you more specific instructions anyway? If I had something to go off of, this wouldn’t be so hard.”

“I know angel. I know.” He doesn’t even try to hide his growing smirk.

The Arrangement continues to be a bumpy plan, the problem being, in Aziraphale’s opinion, that it’s too simple of a plan. They need to have something more thought out with solutions for any and every inconvenience that they could encounter. He voices these thoughts to Crowley in China where they met up to talk about their next plan and share a cup of tea at a table in a backroom at Aziraphale’s current base of operations.

“You know what I think it is?” Crowley asks, taking a sip of tea before he jerks away and frowns at it. “Why aren’t we drinking again?”

“So we can focus. Now focus, dear. What do you think it is?”

“I think you just need to be able to do your part.” He takes a loud, purposefully obnoxious slurp as Aziraphale starts to sputter.

“I, wh- I beg your pardon!?”

“No need to beg. I’ll pardon you this time.”

Aziraphale knows he is an angel and that human rituals and emotions are supposed to be beneath him. However, he isn’t surprised as his cheeks flush red. From what, he isn’t quite sure, perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment at being called out, but he’ll never admit to either. “I am ‘doing my part’ just fine! Better than fine even!”

Crowley stared Aziraphale down with an eyebrow raised, “Oh sure, of course, angel, because exposing a charlatan for his bad deeds is so Evil.”

“I did it in a very public and humiliating manner! He was exposed in front of everyone! No one will ever trust him again, if he even gets out of jail.”

“Oh yes, you humiliated a bad man and stopped him from conning people ever again. How truly evil.”

“Well, what about the other deeds I did? Those must count for something.”

“What, you mean how you tripped someone?”

Crowley still hadn’t stopped staring at him. Was he even blinking? Aziraphale started to fidget in his seat. “Yes! That was quite mean of-”

“And then you helped them up and felt so bad that you offered to buy them lunch?”

Aziraphale started to fidget, twisting the gold ring around his finger. “I was thinking more about how I convinced that young man to doubt the Almighty.”

Crowley’s doubtful and teasing expression finally cleared, but it was much closer to pity now. “I thought you didn’t want me to bring that up?” he said softly.

Aziraphale refuses to look Crowley head on. He stares at his ring. “I’d rather not talk about it, yes, but if it’s the only thing I can do…”

“Angel, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it. Like I said before, even if it is an evil deed, if it doesn’t feel right for you, don’t do it again.” Aziraphale remains silent. “There are other ways to commit evil deeds and temptations. You just need to keep looking for the right one for you.”

“I am an angel Crowley. There is no right ‘evil deed’ for me,” Aziraphale snaps, finally looking Crowley in the eyes again.

“One that is less uncomfortable and doesn’t hit as close to home then.” Aziraphale quiets again but relaxes, admittance that he is right. They stay silent for a moment, and Crowley seems to be internally debating something before he slowly places a hand on top of Aziraphale’s resting on the tabletop. Aziraphale twitches and tenses up, and Crowley immediately withdraws his hand and grips his cup of tea with two hands.

Neither of them address it. Infact, they are both in the middle of trying their best to scrub the memory from their minds.

“So, what do you suggest I try then?” Aziraphale aska primly, doing his best to keep his emotions out of his voice.

Crowley shrugs, a tense, jerky movement. “I can suggest numerous things, angel. None of them are probably right for you. What I usually do is tame by some demon measures, and you still don’t like it. This is going to be something you have to figure out yourself.”

* * *

Over the years, quite a few pieces of art and books are lost to time, even pieces that had been at the peak of popularity for its time. Aziraphale figures that if someone collects these pieces and keeps them safe, it is preserving history, which is admirable. Of course, some of the pieces in this collection are stolen but for the best before they can be damaged or lost.

That’s what Aziraphale tells himself as he sets down another painting next to a precarious stack of scrolls and books. Aziraphale heard rumors of a plan to destroy the painting, so he quickly came up with a plan to keep it, the pile of text had come from the Library of Alexandria, a gift from Crowley. When Aziraphale first heard the news about the library, he was devastated, and had drunk solidly for a week. He had run into Crowley fifty years later, still sorrowful, when Crowley had unceremoniously dumped them in his arms.

“I just happened to be nearby,” he muttered, looking sheepish.

Aziraphale had chastised him for not being careful with them, but he couldn’t keep the joy out of his voice. He has kept them safe ever since, out of sight from humans of course. The texts are one of the starting pieces of his ever-growing collection. The collection that is almost too big, as the last time he had to move for a job, he had to make several trips to move his entire collection with him. He also realizes that he most likely holds a fortune that many would kill for.

This is what sparks the idea of his own temptations. Humans have a dependency on money. Money for food, water, shelter, anything and everything. If a human has no money, they often can’t survive. It leaves them in a state of desperation, especially when they are trying to protect something. In that moment of desperation, if they are offered an opportunity to gain money, they usually jump at the chance.

At this point, Aziraphale knows human patterns well, how they act, how they think, what they are most likely to do. He also often talks to many high-class citizens due to repeatedly seeing them at plays, musicals, and fine dining establishments, including ones that are corrupt. If Aziraphale finds an unfortunate soul and gives them the idea and tools needed to steal from these corrupt humans, well. He is tempting them into stealing; however, he is also bringing down a corrupt human. It seems to be a middle ground of sorts. At least, he perceives it as such.

The first time Aziraphale’s plan is put into action, he’s nervous and confused as to what he should be hoping for in this situation. It works, to both his relief and dismay, relief for finally being able to tempt someone and keep Crowley out of trouble, dismay for being able to tempt someone. Crowley doesn’t help, as the next time they meet he’s smirking and starts the conversation in a teasing manner with, “Seems you finally learned how to do my job, hm?”

Aziraphale is quiet as he pops open a bottle of wine. “I suppose I have,” he says softly as he pours some into two cups, one for each of them.

It’s silent between them for a moment, and then Crowley asks, “So what’s with your obsession with human prophecy?”

Aziraphale can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face as he launches into a lengthy explanation of his fascination. He feels the warmth in his chest return as he hands Crowley his own cup. The conversation leads to what they both have been up to and any philosophical ideas that they come across their minds late into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

As the scream of the poor woman outside was cut off with a heavy thud, the chains around Aziraphale’s wrists rattled, reminding him of his position. Locked up in the Bastille was not a place he wanted to be at any point in time, but the time period where they were cutting people’s heads off seemed especially bad. He feels quite hopeless and pathetic. 

He could practically hear Gabriel and the others, “What failure of an angel gets captured by humans?” “You’re an angel Aziraphale, humans should be no problem for you.” “You went to France for what?” 

He also had never been discorporated before, and he wasn’t looking forward to going out. Oh, when the angels find out, would that be the final straw? Would they make him Fall for that? Aziraphale realizes probably not, but now that the idea is in his mind, it seems to stick. He starts weighing what would be worse, getting found out for using a miracle to get out of being discorporated, or being discorporated?

He supposes it would be easier to explain his discorporation, say something about how he was there to try and spread goodwill, but there was too much Evil and instead he was captured. It would sound better than “I used a miracle because I was captured by humans, and they captured me because I wanted a crepe.” 

As a man approaches and enters Aziraphale’s cell, his mind is racing with ways to get out the situation. Some way to talk to the man and make him empathetic to Aziraphale and change his mind. It becomes quite clear though that the man, Jean Claude, has no intention of changing his mind, much less letting Aziraphale go. Aziraphale is frustrated and exasperated, realizing he has no choice but to accept his death. He’s finding it very hard to love anything right now, “Animals!” he mutters.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines Angel. Only humans do that.” 

Aziraphale feels relief fill him, “Crowley,” he turns around to see Crowley and freezes. Aziraphale did a once-over, “Oh good Lord.” Crowley was dressed entirely inappropriately, like a French peasant; and yet he still looks good. It’s a little frustrating that Crowley always looks good in everything. Aziraphale likes fashion, and keeping up with the newest trends, but it was also a bit of a necessity. Gabriel liked clothes, and being presentable was part of being an angel, apparently. Crowley, on the other hand, could seemingly wear whatever he wanted and, in Aziraphale’s eyes, always look gorgeous. 

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.”

Aziraphale feels the back of his neck heat up, “I was. I got peckish.” 

“Peckish?” Crowley asks incredulously. 

Aziraphale wants to roll his eyes, he felt like he was on trial from upstairs. Only with the much less serious consequence of a friend having more material to tease him with, rather than external damnation. Aziraphale decides he doesn’t mind the consequences. “If you must know, it was the crepes. You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris. And brioche…” Aziraphale gets lost imagining food. 

Crowley snaps him out of it. “So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?”

Aziraphale was not going to tell Crowley why he had to be dressed to the nines, “I have standards. I had heard that they were getting a bit carried away but...” 

“This is not getting ‘carried away’. This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine.” Aziraphale finds it very hard to not roll his eyes. “Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”

The image of another pristine white envelope, his name once again printed in gold on the front, appearing on his desk one morning. This one was straight to the point and even signed by Gabriel, a very pointed detail. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about how appropriate that such a note still conveyed all of the writers proper, thinly veiled threat glory.  _ An angel does not need to use so many frivolous miracles _ . 

Aziraphale would mock it if he wasn’t so worried that Gabriel would somehow find out. “I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. I got a strongly-worded note from Gabriel.” Perhaps it wasn’t strongly-worded to others, but when Gabriel used the word frivolous, he really meant “useless”. 

Crowley reads between the lines, he always does. “You’re lucky I was in the area.”

_ I’m always lucky when you’re in the area _ . Aziraphale swallows the thought down as fast as it came. “I suppose I am. Why are you here?”

“My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance. So I thought I should find out what they were commending me for.”

Aziraphale wants to kick himself, he should have known better than to trust a demon! “So all this is your demonic work?”

“No! The humans thought it all up themselves. Nothing to do with me.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the chains well off of Aziraphale’s wrists.

There’s a certain humility that comes after being saved from someone you just accuse. It’s a unique blend that almost makes Aziraphale wish he was beheaded just to save him from the guilt. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

Crowley seemed alarmed, “Don’t say that. If my people hear I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble. And my lot don’t send rude notes.”

Aziraphale doesn’t love hearing about how demons were treated, especially Crowley, “Well, anyway, I’m very grateful.” Aziraphale realizes the next logical step is for them to split up, the wisest move really. So of course he must pipe up, “What about if I buy you lunch?”

“Looking like that?”

Aziraphale sighs, a cross of annoyance and slight relief at wearing some more casual clothes. He snaps his fingers and switches clothes with Jean Claude. He can see Crowley eyeing him, “Barely counts as a miracle, really.” He says before Crowley has a chance to point out his miracle. He stands next to the demon, and their shoulders briefly touch for a moment. Aziraphale doesn’t see any reason to move away though. 

It isn’t very becoming of an angel to feel pleased as a human heading to their death, even more so as Aziraphale is the one who practically sent him towards his fate. However, Aziraphale finds he doesn’t mind or frets as Jean-Claude is escorted out of the cell. Perhaps it was Crowley’s influence that made him a bit calmer. 

“Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble. So, what’s for lunch?” 

Aziraphale smiles cheerfully, it’s hard not to smile at the prospect of more time spent with Crowley. “What would you say to some crepes?”

* * *

Aziraphale was really settling into a routine now; he spends most of his time at the bookshop, which he considers to be a huge success. A few humans wandered in, but Aziraphale was able to persuade them to not buy anything and keep their hands mostly to themselves. The persuasion was perhaps a little unpleasant at times, but it wasn’t anything that would get him in trouble with upstairs. And one of Aziraphale’s favorite parts of his routine, at least once a month he would meet with Crowley. 

As much as he loves his bookshop, it gets tiring and dull being around humans who constantly try to purchase his books, and sometimes become quite nasty when he refuses to sell. Meeting with Crowley is always a pleasant experience that recharges him. What usually starts at St. James's Park as a secret meeting to exchange information always turned into a pleasant experience, where they would eat, drink, and talk in locations around the world, out of sight from their superiors. 

So when Crowley calls him for a meeting in the park Aziraphale gets excited. He starts closing up shop immediately, it’s not too hard since he just opened five minutes ago. As he makes his way upstairs to get dressed appropriately Aziraphale thinks about food. He already had a leisurely breakfast, and Crowley would know that based on the time he called, but they could have lunch together. There was a new restaurant that opened nearby that Aziraphale wants to try. He would bring it up with Crowley when he saw him.

He’s still thinking about what they should eat when he meets with Crowley. He seems alert, or rather, nervous. Aziraphale takes that as a sign, so they start with a stroll around the lake exchanging human niceties, both of them checking if anyone from Upstairs or Downstairs is watching or listening. It’s a tense situation, and yet Aziraphale feels pleasant, with the warm feeling in his chest and the thought of good food on his mind. 

After confirming no one else was there, they stop and look out into the water, Aziraphale miracling up some food to throw to the ducks. It’s a pleasant day, and Aziraphale is too busy basking in it so he’s not really paying attention to what Crowley’s saying. He mentions something about pears, reminding Aziraphale of the wonderful pear tart he had the last time they met. “I like pears,” he says with a sigh.

“In case it all goes wrong.” There’s a type of exasperation in Crowley’s voice that Aziraphale has rarely heard. It makes him pay attention as Crowley hands him a note. 

As he reads it, Aziraphale feels like he’s been doused. Nothing is pleasant as an ice-cold feeling crawls up his lungs in place of the usual warmth. He doesn’t even think about it as the words slip out of his mouth “Out of the question.”

“Why not?”

He cannot believe Crowley is asking, isn’t it obvious? “It would destroy you. I”m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.”

“That’s not what I want it for. Just… insurance…”

Aziraphale paused, if only for a moment, “I’m not an idiot, Crowley.” He had to come up with a reason not to give it to him, something other than the truth. That he cares about Crowley, that he doesn’t want him to die. “Do you know what trouble I’d get into if they knew I’d been fraternising? It’s completely out of the question.” 

Crowley pauses for a beat and turns to properly look at him, “Fraternising?” he growls.

Aziraphale’s heart feels like it’s being wrung as he continues, “Whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel.”

That comes as no surprise, why would he continuously hang around an angel? “Of course you do.”

Crowley snarls outs “I don’t need you.”

Aziraphale feels like crying as he storms away, “Well the feeling is mutual, obviously!”

Back in his bookshop, Aziraphale is in the bottom of an expensive bottle of wine. Crowley’s face keeps on flashing across his mind, horribly disfigured and screaming in pain. The only reason he doesn’t retch is because the stain would be hard to get out of the plush rug on the floor. He feels terrible. 

This is when Aziraphale realizes why he feels terrible. Why he felt so pleasant around Crowley, why he always looked forward to seeing him. Why the thought of Crowley dying makes him so depressed. 

It’s because Aziraphale was a bad angel.

He’s losing sight of why he was on Earth, he’s letting his resentment towards Heaven build. He needs to get a grip and start thinking reasonably. He is an angel, for Heaven’s sake, a demon being killed should be a blessing to him. Crowley’s face flashes in his mind again. 

Aziraphale swallows down the terrible feeling that comes with the thought. He swallows down the questions of why he feels so strongly about Crowley. He shoves all his questions and feelings and thoughts into the deepest corners of his mind and leaves them there and is left with only one thought. 

Gabriel is right. Angel’s don’t ask questions.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been around twenty years since the fight with Crowley. They haven’t seen each other since. Aziraphale focuses on his work, the menial little tasks Heaven sends him. They’re not hard, and he honestly finds he has too much time on his hands. He’s slowly giving away pieces of his collection, usually to groups who need money and are desperate. There are of course certain things he won’t part with. For example, any of his books, including the texts that Crowley gave him.

Nonetheless, giving away even part of his collection seems to be giving him a new type of reputation. Lately his shop has been seeing a surplus of customers of all different types, rich to poor, young to old. Some started coming as regulars, at first looking for more information about his collection and then becoming genuinely interested in his books. Others were less interested in the books and came in with eyes gleaming at the thought of workless profit. They never got to see his collection. 

Either way, it forces him to stay at his shop to prevent any break-ins, fights, or thefts of people believing the books were part of his priceless collection. Which was true, some of them were, but he certainly wasn’t going to let some human touch them, much less steal them. 

He’s bored of sitting in his bookshop, but it’s better than the bookshop being destroyed. He resolutely does not think that it’s better than seeing memories with Crowley everywhere when he leaves the bookshop. So he sits in front of the counter everyday. Schedule full of re-reading every book again and trying not to think of Crowley. 

He’s in the middle of failing as he reminisces, again, which is followed by frustration as he remembers he’s not supposed to. He’s an angel and he only needs to think about his job and the Almighty. 

“Um, excuse me?” And this man who is standing in front of him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been staring off into space for awhile, and I’d like to buy this book.”

Aziraphale is speechless as he stares at the man. He hasn’t seen red hair like that in a long time. It’s a little unruly, bits of frizz sticking out in odd places; like when he was tired and he couldn’t manage to perfectly style his hair. It’s odd to see him without sunglasses, and “Why on Earth are your eyes brown?”

The man blinks a few times, “Excuse me?”

Aziraphale jerks back, this isn’t Crowley. Crowley isn’t here, Crowley doesn’t care, doesn’t need him. He looks at the man again and sees the differences in perfect clarity. The hair color isn't right, a little too orange, but it’s very close. His face is rounder, softer, as his entire demeanor. The way he nervously fingers the spine of the book he’s holding. 

A book, he’s holding one of Aziraphale’s books. And he’s waiting quite patiently to buy it as Aziraphale just stares at him. “Oh, good Heavens, my apologies!” He starts to ring up the purchase, and he hates every second of it, but it’s the least he can do after ogling the man for so long. 

The man chuckles, “It’s no problem, take your time.” He drums his fingers against the counter nervously, looking around the shop to make sure no one is around before quietly whispering “I was enjoying the view too.”

Aziraphale stutters to a stop, accidently squeezing the book in his hands. He doesn’t need a mirror to know his face is scarlet red. “I-um, I’m, I, huh?”

The man is staring down at the ground as he rocks back and forth on his heels, “Uh. I just. This bookshop is famous, you know. Almost no one actually gets a book. Uh. There’s some, some silly rumors, about how the shopkeeper won’t sell unless he likes you.” He glances up for a moment before whipping his gaze back towards the floorboards. “Plus you were staring at me for so long I just assumed, and you were looking in my eyes so I guess I thought-- nevermind. I’m sorry. I’ll just take the book and you’ll never see me again.”

Aziraphale is very confused, to say the least. He loves all beings, including humans, but not like how humans love each other. He never would. Humans have such short lifespans, and while brilliant at inventing good food and interesting innovations, cannot grasp the vast expanse of what the universe is, or the secrets it holds. So it would be very hard to carry a conversation. While there have been some humans that were lots of fun to be around over the centuries, being with them continuously would be very boring.

However, Aziraphale is already bored. There’s nothing to do, nowhere to go, he believes anything is better than his current routine. He carefully finishes the purchase, “I’m afraid I’m not looking for anyone right now,” he says softly as he hands the man his book. “But if you’re willing to be friends, I would be pleased to keep you company.”

The man stares at Aziraphale, and then the book, and then back to Aziraphale. He smiles, “Thank you Mr….?”

“Fell. A.Z. Fell.”

“Fell. Good name.” He takes the book and fidgets with the spine again, “Actually, there’s a place I’ve heard about, a sort of club, if you’d like to join me?”

“Oh? What’s it about?”

“Not sure, a friend just mentioned it to me. A ‘discreet gentleman’s club’ he called it.”

Aziraphale had certainly never heard of that before. No way he could be reminded of Crowley then. “Sounds like a fun adventure.”


	9. Chapter 9

Aziraphale loves churches. He thinks it’s wonderful that humans try and connect to the Almighty, and he loves the architecture of the buildings they use when they gather. The church he is standing outside of, however, feels foreboding. He grips the handle of his bag a little tighter, and walks in. 

He heavily dislikes the idea of using holy ground as a place for a dirty deal. He realizes since this technically was a sting operation, and the fiends inside would soon be caught, it wasn’t really a dirty deal. The principle of it is still unsettling though. 

As he approaches the worship center, he can sense the two men inside. The vile feelings of hate and disgust radiate from the room, it makes Aziraphale want to hold his breath as he steps in the room.

The two men sitting at the front of the room seem calm and collected, something that would soon change. Aziraphale felt a little proud of himself, he may not be the best angel, but he believes he is a good spy. He makes light conversation with the men as he sets his precious books down. He really didn’t want to bring them but Rose insisted. She said they would see through them if he didn’t. The men pull out a gun on Aziraphale, and he finds it very hard not to smirk. He hears the heel clicks behind get closer as he starts to confidently announce their ruse. 

And then Rose, or rather Greta, turns her gun on him. Aziraphale feels the panic wash over him like a bucket of water is dumped over his head. The Germans calmly talk and laugh as Aziraphale’s mind is racing. There must be some way out of this. The gun is raised in a clean shot towards him. He’s never been discoparated but there’s a first for everything--

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” All heads turn as Crowley hops into view. “Sorry, concentrated ground.” 

Aziraphale feels his heart leap into his throat. He feels a flurry of emotions rattle his head. He’s relieved, angry that he’s relieved, still panicking if he’s going to die, and at the top of it all; he’s so happy to see Crowley again. It’s been a century. “What are you doing here!?”

“Stopping you getting into trouble.”

But how did he know where he was? Unless, “I should have known, of course. These people are working for you.”

“No. They’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies, running around London, blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”

Aziraphale’s heart soars. They’re still friends, Crowley still cares about him. His duties and responsibilities and job all slip his mind as he basks in the glory of knowing that Crowley is there. Crowley cares. Crowley doesn’t hate him after all. 

One of the men speaks up, Aziraphale forgot they’re there. “Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Your fame precedes you.”

“Anthony?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.”

The humans continue to ramble on, but Aziraphale isn’t panicked anymore. Actually his mind is busy trying to figure out where Crowley came up with his new name. “What does the J stand for?”

Crowley is more caught by the question than by the gun pointed at him, “It-it’s just a ‘J’ really.” Then he notices it, “Look at that! A whole fontful of holy water. It doesn’t even have guards!”

Aziraphale feels the ice shoot through his veins, the thought of Crowley getting the holy water much worse than the thought of discorparation. Before he can do anything though, the humans start talking again. For once, he’s grateful for the incessant chatter as Crowley is forced to continue talking. 

As the bomb drops, Aziraphale feels quite calm. He once again wonders if he should feel guilty for letting humans die. It’s not very angelic of him. However, as the dust settles and Crowley is visible again, leaning casually against a pile of rubble, Aziraphale finds he doesn’t care. No need for justifications, ifs, buts, or whys. It doesn’t matter. “That was very kind of you.”

Crowley can’t completely hide his smirk, “Shut up.”

“Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start.” Then it hits him, “Oh, the books. Oh, I forgot all about the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to--”

Crowley rips the bag out of the Nazi’s hand with a small grunt and hands it to Aziraphale. “Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” 

Aziraphale is standing, surrounded by rubble, as the warm feeling in his chest comes back and erupts. This is no longer some nice glow, a pleasant feeling to shove down, or a simple flame that can be extinguished. It’s a blazing fire, it crackles and snaps, sparks rising and bouncing around in his head. They burn all of the lies he’s told himself, turn every excuse and denial into ashes. It sucks all of the oxygen out of his chest, leaving him lightheaded and on fire. Crumbling to pieces as he realizes he is unmistakably in love with Crowley. 

“You coming or what angel?” Crowley calls, waiting by his beloved car, the passenger door open and waiting for him. 

Aziraphale glides over, he feels like he’s flying. He’s as free as he’s ever been as he slides into the car, Crowley shutting the door behind him. He can’t stop smiling, even as Crowley drives much too fast and much too dangerously. The blur outside his window feels similar to the blur in his head. He’s free and he’s flying along.

As Aziraphale starts to recognize the blurs as the street he lives on, he feels confidence overflowing within him.There are problems sure but Aziraphale is confident he can overcome them. Aziraphale looks over at Crowley and can’t stop the smile that comes. The car starts to slow and Aziraphale looks over at Crowley. Aziraphale can do anything, they can do anything together. He’s confident--

_ Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh angel? _

The car comes to a full stop as he remembers. It’s a perfect replica of his voice, same tone, same pitch. He can’t bring himself to look at Crowley again. It doesn’t matter, the words ring in his ears anyways. Aziraphale can explain away a lot. He’s been doing it for centuries. But he can’t explain away the absolute disinterest from Crowley. 

Aziraphale doesn’t blame him of course. He’s himself, a failure of an angel who doesn’t have the guts to become a demon. 

_ Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh angel? _

It’s like a scratched record.

“Are you okay angel?”

Aziraphale flinches, turning to look at Crowley. He seems concerned, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together. Aziraphale doesn’t like him looking so worried, especially now that it gives him false hope, “I’m fine dear, thank you, just tired.” He turns towards the door, hand on the handle, and pauses. He shifted back and looked at Crowley, “I’ll see you in a month? The usual time.”

Crowley is stunned silent for a second, “Yes of course. I’d love to,” he blurts out.

Aziraphale smiles as he shoves the hope those words give him down where his heart used to be. He’s so tired. “Wonderful, see you then dear.” He finishes getting out of the car, pausing and peering inside, “Thank you Crowley.”

“Anytime angel.” Aziraphale can sense the sincerity behind the words. He’s always been able to. 

He shuts the car door and goes inside his bookshop, making his way to his study immediately. He sets the bag down on his desk, pulls out the books inside, and starts moseying around the shop taking his time in putting each one away. It’s his usual routine. Put all the books back where they belong, make sure nothing is missing. All that’s left is to choose a few books, then retire to his study for a night of reading, perhaps with a cup of hot chocolate. 

He makes another lap around the store, looking for a good book, and a third lap. After the fifth lap he takes a moment to sit down at his desk. He stares at the bag on the desk. “Dammit all,” he mutters as he shoots up from the chair and storms into one of the many backrooms of his store. 

This particular one is filled with alcohol of all kinds saved over the centuries. Usually he favors wine, but this calls for something a little stronger. He grabs the bottle of the strongest whiskey and a glass. He carries them back out to his study, pours himself a glass, and sits back down. He spends the rest of the night trying not to cry staring at a now empty bag, emptying the entire bottle of whiskey, and realizing why humans call it “Falling in love.”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s 1967, and Aziraphale is over it. He swears he is, really. He knows that Crowley is his friend, and that’s fine. He just has to make up for it in good deeds as an angel. He does a misdeed every once in awhile, when Crowley is in a bind, but it’s fine because he’s an angel, and he balances it out. 

Especially because he is an angel, what Crowley does is none of his business really. If he gets some holy water, so be it. So it doesn’t matter that he heard some of his customers mutter about a caper. It doesn’t matter that the location is a church, and that there is only one person who would want to steal something from a church. Who would make a grand plan but never actually go in the church itself as they are the getaway driver, or something. 

It’s absolutely none of his business that this entire idea is much too shoddy to work. It’s none of his business that Crowley could get hurt. It’s none of his business so he’s definitely not thinking about it. Definitely not thinking about losing Crowley.

With a sigh, he’s already grabbing his favorite tartan thermos. He fills it with water, muttering a few words incomprehensive to humans. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to make holy water, even humans can create a fairly effective version of it. However the human-made stuff isn’t exactly the same as what they make in Heaven. So even though the human-made stuff will work on a demon, it takes much more time to fully destroy one, making it a long and painful process. What was used in the war was much more effective. 

He hopes, but doesn’t dare pray in case someone listens, that Crowley will never use it. That it will sit unopened for the rest of time. He stares into the thermos. 

He can imagine it, Crowley opening the top and drinking the wretched contents. He hates that he can see it with perfect clarity, but centuries of watching someone has that effect. Every muscle fiber and piece skin stretched over sharp bones, all disintegrating in an instant with a choked out last scream of pain. 

A sob escapes his throat, the image too strong. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees the teardrops fall into the thermos. Brushing the rest of the tears away, he looks into the thermos and swirls it. “Well, now it’s the holiest water on Earth,” he mumbles. Aziraphale screws on the cap and miracles himself into Crowley’s car. 

* * *

Aziraphale sighs, back in the bookshop and sitting at his desk again, another glass of whiskey in his hand. It hurt. To give Crowley the thermos sure, he knew that would be hard. It was hard not to rip it back out of his hands, take back everything he said. He trusts Crowley though, and was not going to go back on that at the very least. No, what hurt the most was saying no to the ride home. 

It was such a golden opportunity, it would have been splendid to go on a car ride together. Watch the streets fly by, perhaps drive out into the country where one could see the stars a little better. But there was a flask of holy water that would probably be in the cup holder, and the entire affair would be serenaded by the same broken record.

_ Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh angel? _

It never fully goes away, Aziraphale has realized. It is quieter on some days, a faint hum where you can’t make out the words but you know the tune. On others it is loud and blaring, disrupting his day by making him stay in bed with a book and feeble attempt to try to ignore it. The worst is when it comes unexpectedly, creeping up on him while he’s daydreaming about a different life where he and Crowly are together, or just thinking about Crowley in general. 

As much as he hates it, and as horrible as he feels, Aziraphale is glad he has the constant reminder. The few times he allows himself to think that Crowley could love him, and he really truly believes it, the feeling is so freeing he finds he isn’t scared of anything. Not of breaking the rules, or failing to do his job. The thought of displeasing Gabriel makes him laugh, and the prospect of Falling isn’t as harsh anymore. At least he would be with Crowley.

Being snapped out of that trance is the worst. It’s a sudden pull back to reality where he remembers that he can’t. He can’t run to Crowley’s side, he can’t risk everything, especially when he doesn’t know how it will end. Falling could mean the end of everything, not just Heaven, but his friendship with Crowley as well. 

For Aziraphale, it’s a mystery why Crowley likes to be around him in the first place. While they both enjoy human activities Crowley rarely wants to do something himself, they were always going where Aziraphale wanted. So having a shared interest in humanity’s little knick knacks is unlikely. He’s a failure of an angel, Heaven makes that clear, so his best guess is that it’s just because he’s a strange angel. Aziraphale is certain that if he was a demon, there would be no more interest to be with some strange angel. He would just be another demon, and Crowley wouldn’t want to be around him. What use would Falling be if he couldn’t be with Crowley in the end?

The only thing Aziraphale feels he can depend on is being an angel. Everything important to him depends on it. His bookshop, Crowley, and his freedom. Every choice he can make is because he’s on Earth without Heaven’s stifling rules. Ironically, he realizes, the key to his happiness away from Heaven lies in following Heaven’s orders. He wishes he hadn’t realized it as he takes another sip of his whiskey and waits for his nerves to settle. 

An eternity of following Heaven’s orders, all while keeping his emotions in check doesn’t exactly sound pleasant. Constantly looking over his shoulder, never sure if someone is watching. He imagines the only bits of reprieve he’ll get is with Crowley; but that’s the reason why he has to do it. Anything would be worth staying with Crowley, even through the constant reminders of what would never be possible. 

Crowley, Earth, and his freedom. As long as he keeps being a good angel, he could still have it all, they would all be safe. He just has to keep it up, continue to be dismissed, do his job, ignore the passive aggressiveness, smile, and follow orders. For eternity. 

Aziraphale downs the rest of his whiskey. 

* * *

A couple of decades pass, and Aziraphale is finding that he has finally slipped into a semi-comfortable routine. He still receives snide remarks from Heaven about how he’s doing his job, and he’s still helplessly in love with Crowley, but he’s figured out how to enjoy the little things in life. He does his job, spends time at the bookstore, and he and Crowley split the bill at the Ritz once a month. 

It all hinges on a delicate balance of him focusing on just one thing at a time. If he’s eating, he’s focusing on his food, if it’s a book, there’s nothing else other than his book. The only time he doesn’t need to focus so intensely is when Crowley is with him. It’s hard to focus on anything other than Crowley, which is another problem.

Over the years he’s learned how to keep his emotions in check, and constantly reminds himself of his duties and the rules. He never crosses over so far that he breaks a rule, but finds ways to do what he wants. It gets a lot harder when Crowley’s around though, Aziraphale is easily swept up just being in his presence. It’s nice to let go and just forget about all of his responsibilities, even for just a moment. He’s constantly grounding himself in reminders to prevent getting carried away, tells himself that they are different. How they could never be together, how Crowley would never want him anyways.

He tries not to dwell on it and stay in the present, surrounding himself with things he enjoys, like sushi. A plate full of his favorite rolls is placed in front of him. Life wasn’t perfect right now, but it was pretty good. He takes a deep breath in and smells the freshly cut fish mixed with the other meals in the restaurant. Then he feels the shift, the air in the restaurant becomes piercingly clean, and the sound of other diners has gone eerily quiet. 

“Mind if I join you?”

He tells himself to smile as he turns his head, “Gabriel. What an unexpected pleasure. It’s been--”

“Quite awhile, yes.” Not nearly long enough to Aziraphale’s tastes. Although it is alarming to see him on Earth, Gabriel never comes down unless something big was happening. “Why do you consume that? You’re an angel,” he looks nauseated. 

“It’s sushi. It’s nice. You dip it in soy sauce and…” It’s clear Gabriel doesn’t care, nor will he listen. Right, good angel. Be a good angel, “It’s what humans do, and if I am going to be here among them, well, keeping up appearances. Tea?”

“I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with gross matter.”

Aziraphale struggles to keep his smile straight, “Obviously not. Nice suit.” 

“Yes, I like the clothes. Pity they won’t be around much longer.”

That’s alarming. “They won’t?”

“We have reliable information that things... are afoot.”

“They are?” Crowley never told him.

“Yes, my informants suggest that the demon Crowley may be involved. You need to keep him under observation, without, of course, letting him know that’s what you’re doing.”

Aziraphale’s not sure if he wants to laugh at how oblivious Gabriel is or if he’s irked at being underestimated, “I do know. I’ve been on Earth doing this since the beginning.”

“So has Crowley. It’s a miracle he hasn’t spotted you, yet.” Aziraphale is definitely irked now as Gabriel laughs, “I know. Miracles are what we do.” 

Gabriel finally leaves, and it takes all of Aziraphale’s strength to not mutter some choice words under his breath. He looks at the sushi on his plate. Well, Gabriel’s words were something to think about later, for now, he has a plate of sushi to focus on.

After finishing dinner, he walks back to his bookshop, already thinking about what to have for breakfast. He slips inside the bookshop and starts playing a record, and is just hanging up his jacket as he hears the phone ring. With a small scowl he strides over; after living thousands of years and watching the humans change, he’s found one of the few constants humans have never let go of. Complete disregard for opening and closing hours. “I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed.”

“Aziraphale, it’s me. We need to talk.”

Just hearing Crowley’s voice makes him feel as light as a feather, “Yes. Yes, I rather think we do. I assume this is about...”

“Armageddon, yes.”

The line goes dead, and Aziraphale can’t help but roll his eyes and smile as he puts the phone back down. Crowley always did have a flair for being dramatic. Aziraphale retires to his study for the night, a bit more spring in his step. He isn’t looking forward to the topic tomorrow, but any reason to see Crowley is a good one. 


	11. Chapter 11

Aziraphale and Crowley are positively smashed in the bookshop, and honestly Aziraphale would be having the time of his life if Crowley could just stop making such convincing arguments. “And you know what’s worse?” Crowley starts up again, “When it’s all over, you’ve got to deal with ETERNITY!”

Aziraphale’s thought of eternity several, several times, but this was… different, somehow. “Eternity?”

Crowley is still stumbling around, “It won’t be so bad at first. No more Stephen Sondheim first nights in eternity, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale is, unfortunately, catching on very fast to what Crowley is saying. “Although, I’ve heard rumors that your boss  _ really likes _ The Sound of Music! Fancy spending eternity watching that? You could literally climb every mountain, over and over and over…”

The abysmal choice in musicals aside, Aziraphale’s mind is tugging at him, trying to get him to realize something. He’s having trouble focusing, “I don’t like it any more than you, but I told you. I can’t diso-- not do what I’m told. M’ anangel! I…” The realization of what the eternity Crowley’s talking about means slams into him. It’s not the type of exhausting eternity he’s been planning to carry out, where he does his job and stuffs his feelings down. This is an eternity of no more enjoyment, Of always being in Heaven. An eternity where he never sees Crowley again. “I can’t cope with this while ‘m drunk. I’m going to sober up.”

Crowley looks like he’s going to hurl, “Yeah, me too.”

A thoroughly unpleasant snap later, they are both sober and incredibly upset about it. They sit in silence for a moment before Crowley starts to talk again. Aziraphale would sigh, but listening to him talk makes him feel better, even if he hates the topic. He continues on for awhile while Aziraphale wracks his brain for some loophole, a way to bend the rules. He can’t find one, “Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t! I can’t interfere with the divine plan.”

“Well, what about diabolical plans? You can’t be certain that thwarting me isn’t part of the divine plan too. I mean, you’re supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale, as he always does when Crowley suggests a plan, starts thinking about possibilities of the plan failing. “Well…”

“You see a wile, ya’ thwart. Am I right?” 

“I… broadly. Actually I encourage humans to do the actual--”

“But the Antichrist has been born. But it’s the upbringing that’s important, the influences. The evil influences, that’s all going to be me! It’d be too bad if someone made sure that I failed.”

Crowley knows him so well, too well. “If you put it that way, Heaven couldn’t actually object if I was thwarting you…”

“No. Be a real feather in your wing.”

Aziraphale can’t think of any way for the plan to fail with that as the set up. He thinks about the alternative, and then offers his hand to Crowley. Between an eternity of Heaven and an eternity of work with Crowley, the choice is easy to make.

* * *

Aziraphale is currently panicking. There’s no better way to put it, other than perhaps having an absolute meltdown. Five days ago he and Crowley realized they’ve wasted the last six years of their time on the wrong boy. Needless to say, a distressing realization. Aziraphale has since been galavanting with Crowley looking for the boy, hit a poor girl with a car, found Agnes Nutter’s book, and surprisingly, actually found the Antichrist. 

The last part is the major reason for his current panic. When he first pieced it all together, his first thought was to, obviously, call Crowley. But over the past few days, Crowley had been suggesting the alarming idea of killing the Antichrist. It’s been making Aziraphale nervous, not just the idea of killing someone, but also the thought of Crowley having to do it. Aziraphale refuses to do it either way, Heaven forbid he kill someone. Even more than Heaven, he really isn’t keen on the idea himself. The idea of Crowley killing someone, especially a child, is nauseating to both of them. Aziraphale knows Crowley, he knows he would never want to kill someone.

So the only other solution is to talk to Heaven. Aziraphale may have his grievances with Heaven, but he knows that they can see reason. They were the good guys, Heaven would never actually want another war. All he has to do is reason with them, talk to Gabriel. It would be easy. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself as he paces around the bookshop, rehearsing hundreds of different speeches. He goes around in circles, he cycles through every possible scenario, idea, plan, almost anything would be preferable to what he has to do. He can’t find another plan, something else with a better success rate. He paces the bookshop one last time before finally sitting down in his chair with a sigh, he wishes he could have a drink before he leaves.

He crafts a message to Heaven and sends it off, asking for an immediate meeting. 

* * *

There’s a purpose as to why Heaven looks the way it does, just as everything has a purpose that the Almighty decides. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has never understood why Heaven is so empty. The blinding bright white everywhere you look, the only other colors the neutral colors of the angels suits. It brings back old memories and makes Aziraphale feel terribly alone. 

Standing in front of four angels who are clearly tired of him talking doesn't help the feeling. He wants to give up, but presses on, “Well, it’s possible that the demon Crowley… He’s a wiley adversary. Keeps me on my toes, I can tell you. But the um, American ambassador’s son, well, it may have been a ruse...:”

Sandalphon looks like a fish with his mouth gaping open, “A ruse?”

“And the actual Antichrist might be, um, somewhere else.”

Gabriel’s smile has never been tighter, “Where?”

It’s less than a second, but Aziraphale knows he can’t tell the truth. It’s an instinct, or perhaps it’s just fear, but he can’t tell Gabriel. “Not sure. I mean… I could find out. I have my agents. Dedicated team who could investigate the possibility.” Something is off about the entire situation, Aziraphale rubs his fingers together. “Hypothetically speaking, if this were the case…”

“It wouldn’t change anything, Aziraphale.” Uriel speaks with unwavering confidence.

Gabriel is hardly smiling anymore, and it’s almost worse at how serious he is. “There was war in Heaven, long before the Earth was created. Crowley and the rest of them were cast out. But things were never really settled.”

Aziraphale feels his heart sinking as reality starts to set in. “No. Right. I suppose they weren’t. But there doesn’t have to be another war, does there?”

“As much as we’ve enjoyed your hypotheticals, Aziraphale, I’m afraid we have things to do. THe Earth isn’t going to just end itself, you know.”

Aziraphale feels hopeless, “No. Yes. Right. Sorry.” 

The four angels stride away, leaving Aziraphale standing by himself, staring out into the empty expanse of Heaven. And for the first time in 6000 years, Aziraphale decidedly feels that he does not like Heaven. He turns heel and leaves, miserable. 

Back in the bookshop again, pacing again, Aziraphale is wracking his brain for another plan. He’s already called Sergeant Shadwell to find the boy. He knows there must be a better way though, someway to convince Heaven. He’s not dumb, he knows that he’s raised too much suspision from Heaven. They would be watching him closer from now on. The phone rings and Aziraphale almost trips before rushing over and picking it up. 

“It’s me. Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous.”

As much as Aziraphale loves Crowley’s dramatic side, he’s not able to remember all of Crowley’s silly code words right now. “Is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus, or the British Museum cafe?”

Crowley sounds almost offended that Aziraphale forgot, “The bandstand. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” The line goes dead and Aziraphale isn’t sure if he’s exhausted or excited to see Crowley. Crowley, who he loves, and who would surely be caught if Aziraphale gets any closer to him. He gets ready anyways.

* * *

Crowley is already at the bandstand as Aziraphale approaches, nerves eating him alive as he looks over his shoulder one more time. He looks back at Crowley and grinds his teeth together, wishing they were closer, that they could rely on each other without any worries. “Any news?”

Yes. “Um. What kind of news would that be?”

“Well? Do you have the missing Antichrist’s name, address and shoe size yet?”

He hates lying, especially to Crowley. “Shoe size? Why would I have his show size?”

Crowley looks exasperated, “Joke. I’ve got nothing either.”

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” 

“For the record, great pustulent mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!”

They may be watching, “May you be forgiven!” 

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description.  _ Unforgivable _ .  _ That’s what I am _ .”

Aziraphale knows it’s not true. Because he’s forgiven Crowley plenty of times. For every sin and petty prank, for every curse. For breaking his heart a little more, each and every time they meet. He knows that not everyone will forgive Crowley, but he is not unforgivable. But Aziraphale also knows that out of everyone that won’t forgive Crowley, the person at the top of that list was most likely Crowley himself. He wishes Crowley could understand how willing he is to forgive him. To accept him, how much he wants to be with him, they could try to convince Heaven together, “You were an angel once.”

“That was a long time ago.” Just like that, Aziraphale feels his heart break a little bit more, and he forgives Crowley again. Aziraphale has to do this on his own, and there was only one way to drive Crowley away. The demon continues on, “We find the boy. My agents can do it…”

“And then what? We eliminate him?”

“Well… somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.”

“You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.”

“Uh-uh.”

Was Heaven watching? “If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve. And Heaven does not have blood on its hands.”

Crowley is getting agitated. “No blood on your hands? That’s a bit holier than thou, isn’t it?”

“I am a great deal holier than thou.” Lies. “That’s the whole point.”

“Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.”

“I’m not killing anybody.” That was true.

“This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Frankly, neither do I.” Were lies enough to make an angel Fall? Aziraphale can’t remember.

“Enough, I’m leaving.” Crowley actually turns and starts to leave.

It’s for the best, so Aziraphale wants to kick himself as the words slip out “You can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go.”

Crowley looks back, “Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together.”

The idea is too appealing. Crowley knows exactly what to say, he always does. He always manages to tempt Aziraphale. Which is why Aziraphale digs in his heels, “‘Go off together?’ Listen to yourself.”

“How long have we been friends? Six thousand years?”

It’s too much. Aziraphale knows he has to put an end to it. He can’t let Crowley get caught up in this, risk Crowley being caught. “Friends? We aren’t friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.”

“You do.”

He does. “Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you. We are on opposite sides.” 

“We’re on  _ our _ side.”

Aziraphale is going to cry. He can feel it, bubbling in his gut waiting to erupt. For all the times Aziraphale has forgiven Crowley, he hopes that one day, Crowley will be able to forgive him. “There isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley. Not any more. It’s over.”

That does it. Aziraphale can tell. He looks like he wants to say more, and a large part of Aziraphale wishes he would. “Right. Well, then. Have a nice doomsday.”

Crowley leaves, and Aziraphale is left standing by himself again. Even with the objects and colors around proving he wasn’t in Heaven, Aziraphale feels just as alone.


	12. Chapter 12

Aziraphale is walking home after an unsuccessful and thoroughly unpleasant meeting in the park with Gabriel. Everyone was preparing for war, and there was no one else to talk to. The only being in Heaven who probably wasn’t preparing for the war was… the Almighty. Aziraphale’s thought about the idea for about a day, but didn’t want to use it until it was the only viable option left. He believes he’s hit that criteria. 

A familiar vintage Bently whizzes by, suddenly screeching to a halt at the corner. Crowley rushes out, “Angel! I’m sorry. I apologize. Whatever I said. I didn’t mean it. Work with me, I’m apologising here. Yes. Good. Get in the car.”

He wasn’t expecting that. “What? No!”

Crowley continues to plow forward, “Forces of Hell. They’ve figured out that it was my fault. But, we can run away, together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spares planets up there. Nobody will notice us.”

It would be so easy to say yes. Aziraphale wants to say yes, but he has one more shot at saving everyone. “Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I-I-I’m quite sure that if I can just reach the right people, I can get all this sorted out.”

“There aren’t any right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and NOT TALKING TO ANY OF US!”

“Well, yes. That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.”

“That won’t happen.” Aziraphale can see the last bit of hope drain out of Crowley. “You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Aziraphale isn’t really offended, he knows Crowley will probably regret what he said more than the words could ever hurt. As Crowley storms back to the Bentley, Aziraphale calls out, “I forgive you.”

“I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff. And I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I-I won’t even think about you!”

That one did hurt. Aziraphale watches Crowley speed off and feels the weight of being alone settle over him. Fights the urge to go after Crowley, to run home and pack his belongings to be with Crowley. He has his own duty now, both to Heaven and to Earth, to make things right. He turns around and keeps walking to his bookshop, reminding himself of his plan. 

Aziraphale’s in Soho and almost home when three figures in sharp suits corner him. Azriaphale’s pulse skyrockets as Michael smiles, “Hello, Aziraphale.”

“Oh. Michael. Sandalphon. Uriel. Hello, um.”

Michael looks like they’re enjoying themselves, “We’ve just been learning some disturbing things about you. You’ve been a bit of a fallen angel, haven’t you? Consorting with the enemy…?”

Aziraphale’s mind is spinning. They were seen. They were seen they know, how much do they know? He can’t stop smiling, he should stop smiling. “I-I-I haven’t been consorting.”

Uriel isn’t as amused as Michael, “Don’t think your boyfriend in the dark glasses can get you special treatment in Hell. He’s in trouble too.” That gets him to stop smiling.

“Aziraphale, it’s time to choose sides.”

“I’ve actually been giving this a lot of thought. The, erm, whole choosing sides thing. What I think is, there obviously has to be two sides. That’s the whole point. So people can make choices. That’s what being human means. Choices! But that’s for them. Our job, as angels, should be to keep all this working, so they can make choices.”

Uriel is deadly serious, “You think too much.”

Aziraphale doesn’t have time to think as Sandalphon knocks the wind out of him. He can’t breathe as Uriel picks him up and slams him against the wall like a ragdoll. “You… musn’t. Why would you do this? We’re the good guys!”

Michael looks just as calm, they really take after Gabriel, “You’ve been down here too long.”

Aziraphale is forced to see reality, that the angels would never care about the truth. They were all too focused on their war. “I have to warn you, I-I’m going to take this entire interaction up with… a higher authority.”

Uriel smirked, “You really think upstairs would take your call? You’re ridiculous.” The rallying horn for war rang out across the realms of Heaven and Earth, and Aziraphale’s heart dropped into his stomach. The three angels finally stepped back, “Oh, this is great, it’s starting.” 

They looked up and disappeared, leaving Aziraphale a pool of anger and helplessly looking up after them. Aziraphale decided he officially hated the angels in Heaven, “You. You b… Bad angels!” He started walking back home, full of renewed vigor. The Almighty would certainly understand, he just needed to talk to them. 

* * *

Aziraphale is currently nowhere, and perhaps everywhere, as he searches for a receptive body. His hopes crushed at the realization that Crowley was right, the Almighty moves in mysterious ways and doesn’t directly talk to anyone. He was discorperated trying to save an idiot who thinks he’s a demon, and then called pathetic by a fool who’s excited for war. He’s decided he’s had enough. 

For the first time in his existence, he is without a body and without responsibilities from Heaven. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s definitely preferable to being Heaven’s perfect angel. And now he has a mission of his own, to find Crowley and stop Armageddon. He knows they can do it together, but it’s easier said than done. He can’t see anything, hear, or feel anything. Yet he finds Crowley, he can’t confirm it but he knows Crowley is in front of him.

He always knows how to find Crowley. 

* * *

Aziraphale is usually more partial to wine in general, sweet cocktails for a little fun, and when things are really dire, whiskey. However, with the prevention of Armageddon successful, champagne really feels the most fitting. The waiter pops the cork off of the bottles and fills their flutes as Aziraphale turns to Crowley. There’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time, and he probably would never have a better chance to say it. “I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit, a good person.”

Crowley, for once, finally, doesn’t refute. “Or if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.” Aziraphale smiles, there was an unspoken agreement there. Aziraphale isn’t quite sure what it is, but he doesn’t think it needs to be defined right now. Crowley lifts his flute, “Cheers. To the world.”

Aziraphale feels as light and bubbly as the champagne in his flute and filled to the brim with love. “To the world.”


	13. Chapter 13

It’s been about six months since almost Armageddon, and Aziraphale standing at the counter of his bookshop is waiting for Crowley to come pick him up. They’re heading to Tadfield today to check on Adam and meet with Anathema. After preventing Armegedon, they had agreed to come and check on Adam once in a while. Little check ins to make sure he wasn’t going to start Armageddon again, and answer any questions he may have. Anathema had been mad at the theft of her book, but is also very interested in the truth, so she asked to be included. 

Of course, over the past six months, Aziraphale and Crowley have been meeting whenever they like, and carrying on with their usual daily lives. Aziraphale chasing humans out of his bookstore, freely opening and closing when he pleases, and Crowley causing little bits of mischief here and there for kicks. Everything is back to the way it once was, with the added bonus of finally being able to do whatever they please without worry, and Aziraphale is perfectly happy.

That’s what he reminds himself of as he drums his finger on the tin of shortbread he’s bringing to Tadfield. If he was forced to tell the truth at the moment, he wasn’t as happy as he could have been because of certain little thoughts and ideas that wander around his mind on the daily nowadays. He finds himself constantly thinking of Crowley. Plus, with nothing holding him back anymore, there’s also nothing holding back his imagination. Constantly reminiscing about their last meeting, getting swept up in the idea of being able to call it a date. Wishing they were something more.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it! Because Aziraphale isn’t dumb, and Crowley isn’t subtle. So of course Aziraphale notices their once-monthly “update” meetings turned into weekly “Oh I was just in the area, thought I’d pop in,” meetings, which morphed into Crowley stopping by the bookshop several times a week unless they already had dinner plans. He stopped giving explanations too, he would just walk through the door, head straight to the backrooms and make himself comfortable. Of course Aziraphale would always have some small snack or treat ready for him. Maybe bring him a cup of coffee, but Crowley’s a guest so of course he’d be hospitable. 

It’s giving him all sorts of ideas though, and as much as Aziraphale loves being around Crowley it’s starting to become a kind of torture. After feeding his ideas lies, guilty pleasures, and fake-dates with Crowley for far too long, the prospect of something actually real fuels them beyond comprehension. He keeps on almost convincing himself that Crowley actually feels something for him before reality settles back into his bones. They were friends, best friends maybe, and nothing more. 

A short honk outside snaps Aziraphale back to the present, and he sees the Bentley through the glass doors of the shop. He files all of his daydreams into the back of his mind, something to worry about later. He picks up the tartan tin and hurrys outside, using a small miracle to lock the door behind him. He opens the car door and gets in, Crowley is waiting with grin, “Ready angel?”

Curse him and his pretty smile, “Yes, quite. Do you think Anathema will like the shortbread?” He slightly rattles the tin before placing them behind Crowley’s seat.

“I’m sure she will,” Crowley says as Aziraphale starts to turn around again, hands free. 

Just as Aziraphale is about to place his hands on his lap, Crowley gently grabs his hand. Neither of them say anything as Aziraphale’s mind has short circuited and Crowley has absolutely frozen, waiting. They stay like that for a minute before Aziraphale slowly, carefully, moves his hand and situates it so they’re holding hands comfortably. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, “Well dear, we haven’t got all day.” 

“Hm,” Crowley says in response before starting to drive off. Aziraphale’s mind finally goes from blank to exploding with thousands of thoughts. Most of them panicking, some of them concerned and trying to analyze what holding hands means, and a good chunk of them being absolutely smitten. He steals a glance over at Crowley, and the bastard has the biggest smile on Aziraphale has ever seen. Aziraphale groans internally, and knows this will just fuel him into believing they actually feel the same. However, he can’t actually feel upset as Crowley speeds through the streets of London, and chooses to, for once, ignore his common sense and just enjoy the moment.

* * *

Anathema, as it turns out, is a very bright young woman with many questions that Aziraphale is more than happy to answer. Crowley, on the other hand, seemed quite bored. He chimes in with tidbits here and there, but Aziraphale does most of the talking. He’s about to continue on with his story when he notices how dark it is outside the window, and realizes they best be going.

Aziraphale and Crowley are crowded in the vestibule of Jasmine Cottage as Anathema stands nearby. “Thank you so much for coming. I would love for you to come back again so you can finish telling me about Egypt?” 

Aziraphale lights up, “Oh, that would be lovely; how about once a month? Same time.”

Anathema smiles, “That would be great. Crowley, will you come as well?” 

Crowley seems a bit bored, “I’ll pass on your history book club. I’ll be waiting in the car angel.” He saunters out to the Bentley, waiting for Aziraphale to finish up.

Aziraphale sighed, “I apologize for him, he means well.”

Anathema was smiling, “No worries, I can tell. Have a nice night Aziraphale, I’ll see you next month.” She pauses, debating something, before saying, “By the way, in my opinion, the both of you make a good pair, in more than one sense.”

Aziraphale feels himself flush, but he returns the smile, “You have a nice night as well dear.” He leaves, making sure the door is shut behind him. The Bentley is already running and raring to go as Aziraphale approaches. As soon as he gets in and shuts the door, Crowley takes off.

It’s silent only for a moment before Crowley says “I can drive you there if you'd like.” He glances over at Aziraphale briefly before gesturing behind them, “For your meeting, I mean.”

Aziraphale looks over, “Are you sure my dear? It’s an awfully long drive.”

“It’s fine, I can check on the boy while you two chat. Two birds with one stone, as they say.”

Aziraphale thinks about it for a moment, he can’t necessarily just miracle himself there, it would be rude, and a disaster if another human saw. It also would be nice to not have to take the bus… “If you’re sure… then thank you.”

“Mm,” Crowley mumbles bringing his hand back to the wheel. Aziraphale sees a chance and before thinking, grabs it, literally. The car swerves ever so slightly before Crowley adjusts his hand and sets it between them so they’re both comfortable. Aziraphale smiles to himself, and they’re both quite all the way to London. 

* * *

Aziraphale is staring at the phone, and is going mad or already is mad. He honestly can’t tell, but he can tell that he’s becoming absolutely insane because he’s starting to actually believe that Crowley really does like him. Added onto the fact that Crowley practically lives at the bookshop these days, they practically haven’t stopped touching each other since they trip to Tadfield. It’s been three months, and Crowley is constantly holding his hand, keeping a hand on his leg underneath the table, entangling their legs together whenever they’re sitting on the couch in the backroom. It’s hardly seen as platonic, and Aziraphale doesn’t believe anybody else would. 

Aziraphale isn't an idiot, he can tell Crowley clearly isn’t opposed to him, but he can’t confirm that Crowley is willing to make that extra step. If Crowley actually loves him. He always seems to be slightly guarded. And Aziraphale knows how they seem to humans, even Anathema had commented on “How great they were together,” the last time they had met. But Aziraphale doesn’t care about the human labels, the possibilities and the chances. 

He just wants to know if Crowley loves him back.

Which leads to Aziraphale’s current predicament, because he doesn’t care about the chances anymore, or what might happen if he’s wrong. He just wants to tell Crowley he loves him. He thinks it’s important that Crowley know how he feels, and hope his assumptions about Crowley so far are right. So all he has to do is tell Crowley how he feels, and that really shouldn’t be so hard, it’s just three words.

He picks up the phone and dials Crowley, not expecting him to actually pick up. He never does, he always lets it go to voicemail.

“Yes angel?”

Aziraphale jumps, “Crowley! You answered!”

“Yes… You called me.”

Aziraphale starts fiddling with the cord connected to the phone, “Right, yes, of course I did. Listen, I just, I wanted to tell you--” 

_ Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh angel? _

Aziraphale stops. He told himself not to believe it, that even if Crowley didn’t like him then, he could like him now. The thoughts of losing Crowley, of Crowley being disgusted with him, fill his mind. He knows Crowley would never do that, that Crowley is kinder than that. What if he is just full of himself though? Seeing things that aren’t there? “Angel?” Crowley’s voice startles Aziraphale out of his thought, “Everything alright?”

“Yes, yes quite alright. I just,” an idea strikes him, “I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. How about the Ritz? As usual?”

There’s a pause, before, “Sounds great angel, I’ll pick you up in half-an-hour?” 

“That would be splendid my dear, thank you. I’ll see you soon.” Aziraphale slams the phone back down with a bit more force than needed. He speed walks over to his office and sinks down into his chair with a heavy sigh. He sits there for awhile, lost in his own thoughts, trying to reason why he lost all his courage at the last second. Suddenly, he stands up and starts getting ready, his mind buzzing numerous plans trying to think of every possible way it could go. Old habits die hard he supposes. But he’s determined to tell Crowley, no matter what.

When it came down to it, how hard could it be?


	14. Chapter 14

Aziraphale is honestly having a great time. The conversation is flowing smoothly, the food has been wonderful, and Crowley has their feet entangled underneath the table. Only one thing could make the evening better, if the bundle of nerves in Aziraphale’s stomach disappeared. 

Aziraphale finishes telling a story of a customer in his shop, and the conversation lulls slightly. Perfect for a change in topic. Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s hand and holds it, “My dear, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

Crowley is surprised, “Oh? What is it?”

“I- you see. For a long time now I…” The knots in his stomach tighten as thousands of unfortunate endings come to mind. Aziraphale does his best to ignore it, lightly rubs circles into Crowley’s hand, but it overtakes him. “I, I want to thank you. For sticking with me throughout the millennia.” Aziraphale pauses, that’s not what he meant to say, but it isn’t wrong. He continues, “I know I wasn’t very pleasant at moments, and you saved me so many times. I want to make sure you know how much I appreciate it.” Aziraphale dares a glance at Crowley, and is fully surprised at the view.

Even with his dark sunglasses, the red in his cheeks is apparent. He sets a hand on top of Aziraphale’s, “Aziraphale, I understand. I do, and I want to thank you too.”

Aziraphale blinks, the sincerity in Crowley’s voice throwing him off guard, “For what?”

Crowley hesitates for a moment, “The holy water, for one.” Aziraphale flinches, he can’t help it. Crowley has already told him how it was used. “That, see, it still upsets you to this day.”

Aziraphale flinched, accidently twitching his hands and causing Crowley to jerk back his own. “I- how do you, but I haven’t--”

“I’m a demon Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbles, “I can sense things like that.”

Oh. “Oh,” Aziraphale mumbles. “Well that must be quite exhausting.” 

Crowley waves a hand, “Ah, not really. It’s something I can usually block out, unless the feelings are particularly strong.” Crowley looks sheepish, “And since I can sense yours… it’s pretty clear how you feel about the whole situation to this day.”

Aziraphale thinks very carefully about how to say what he wants to convey. “It’s true that I never wanted to give you holy water, but what upsets me the most is not how it was used, but how close you were to it. You could have died Crowley.” He pauses, “I would have missed you very much.”

Crowley visibly relaxes some, Aziraphale never realized how strongly Crowley felt about it. “Thank you angel.” 

Aziraphale smiles, “Of course my dear.”

He pretends not to notice how Crowley does not grab his hand again.

* * *

So the plan to tell Crowley at the Ritz failed, obviously, but Aziraphale reasons that’s because the mood wasn’t right. His new plan is to tell Crowley during a walk through the park. They often walk around the city, and the park was a pleasant place. A little miracle also gave the added bonus of privacy. 

They’re walking hand-in-hand through St. James, not particularly saying anything, just enjoying each other's company. Aziraphale knows now would be the perfect time to tell him, but, this there’s so much history in this area. Too many secret meetings, a kidnapping even! It simply wouldn’t do, no, absolutely not. He would say it somewhere else in the park, in a little bit. For sure.

He keeps on walking without thinking, not realizing Crowley is really just silently following at this point. He finally comes across a nice path that is surprisingly naturally secluded, and starts walking down it when he’s suddenly tugged back. Or rather, stopped because Crowley has stopped walking. Aziraphale frowns, “Crowley? What’s wrong?”

Crowley is clearly conflicted, “Do you really want to go this way?”

Aziraphale is only more confused? “What?” He turns his head to look down the path, “What’s wrong with it… oh.” At the end of the path sits a very familiar bandstand. Painfully familiar actually. Aziraphale’s stomach of knots grows into his lungs as a rush of unpleasant memories flood him. They had already talked about it, but that didn’t make it comfortable. “No,” he says softly, slowly walking back towards Crowley. “No I don’t think I do.” He stops before taking another step before quietly asking, “You do know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Crowley winces and looks away, obviously thinking very hard about what to say. “I do now.”

It hurts, but Aziraphale knows he would never accept a lie from Crowley. They continue walking on the path away from the bandstand in silence, and Aziraphale is too caught up in his thoughts to notice that Crowley has let go of his hand.

* * *

Aziraphale feels like he might cough up a lung if he laughs any harder. He’s sitting on the couch in one of the backrooms of his bookshop, with Crowley leaning up against a bookcase on the floor, about a dozen bottles half full of wine surrounding the room. Nothing serious was happening, they were just having a bit of fun. 

Currently, Crowley was doing a horribly inaccurate impression of Gabriel. Aziraphale had accidently let slip a few of the phrases Gabriel had told him, things about his figure, passive aggressive comments about his incompetence, etc. Crowley had immediately started insulting him, which had now somehow led to impressions. 

“‘Oh yes, human clothing is amazing! Pity I can’t even dress myself without a miracle, it’s just too complicated!’” Crowley shouted in a deep pitch.

Aziraphale almost falls off the couch from laughing so hard. Crowley starts laughing as Aziraphale resituates himself, still laughing. Crowley looks like a mess, his hair for once not perfectly styled but rather mussed up, his glasses on the ground next to him, his legs sprawled across the floor, and his head tipped back as he roars with laughter. He really does look perfect, but Aziraphale can’t help but think that he would look even better if he was on the couch with him, perhaps with his head in Aziraphale’s lap.

He finally stops laughing and he’s smiling directly at Aziraphale, and really, Aziraphale loves him so much. It’s on the tip of his tongue, all he has to do is open his mouth and he knows it will all come spilling out, it would be so easy. He just has to open his mouth, to get his stomach to stop twisting… but it’s not right! They’re both drunk, or well, buzzed, but that was really just a horrible misunderstanding in the making. It’s just not right, truly the worst time to confess, he tells himself. 

Aziraphale wants to hit himself as he pops another bottle of wine open and pours himself another glass. He makes eye contact with Crowley and raises his glass with a small smile, “To freedom.”

Crowley smiles, it seems a little forced but perhaps Aziraphale is just seeing things, as he raises his almost empty glass. “To freedom.”

* * *

Aziraphale is starting to get incredibly tired. He can’t seem to say a few simple words, and it’s driving him absolutely mad. Worst of all, every day they talk, and become a little bit closer, and Aziraphale becomes a little more convinced that Crowley does love him back. He mentions how he’s feeling to Anathema one day, while they’re having tea in Jasmine Cottage. They’ve grown quite close over the past few months, and he thinks it will be nice to have an outside perspective.

She raises an eyebrow, “You’re kidding right?”

Aziraphale blinks, “Pardon?”

She sets her cup down, “Wow, you’re not joking. Okay then, how do I put this…” She seems hard at thought and stares into her teacup for a minute before looking at Aziraphale again. “Crowley has probably been in love with you for 6000 years, give or take a 1000, and you literally have nothing to worry about.” She picks her cup back up and takes a sip. 

Aziraphale knows his mouth is open, but he’s not quite sure how to close it. When he finally does, he has to try and think of how to respond. Eloquently, politely, in a non-offensive way-- “What the Hell are you talking about?”

She sighs, “Aziraphale, I’ve listened to probably only a fifth of all of your stories; but in each and every one I’ve heard, Crowley sounds quite... smitten with you. If my assumption is right, he’s been fully in love with you for 6000 years, and definitely isn’t going to make the first move at this point.” 

Aziraphale shakes his head, “My dear, you must be mistaken--”

“I highly doubt that. I realize you both are otherworldly beings who don’t process things the same way we humans do, but the symptoms you’ve told me about are quite similar to what humans feel. Plus, from what I hear, you’ve only realized you’re in love with him in the past,” she scoffs, “100 years. That’s still a little unbelievable. Anyways, Crowley has most likely gotten comfortable with the current routine. There’s no way he’s going to risk everything when he’s so practiced in keeping the status quo.”

Aziraphale falls quiet, he knows there’s no arguing against her. Especially when everything she says matches with thoughts that have already crossed his mind. At this point, Crowley has probably decided not to say anything, for the rest of time, just to preserve what they have. Crowley has even risked more than Aziraphale just to help him, save his life, keep him company, over the past 6000 years. Aziraphale would get a strongly worded note, possibly Fall. Crowley would have been tortured, probably killed. 

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to take a risk.


	15. Chapter 15

Aziraphale has decided to tell Crowley, really. Perhaps they feel the same, after all. So why it’s so hard is really a mystery. Lately, he’s been constantly getting stuck in his own head. He knows there was never a wrong atmosphere, a wrong time to tell Crowley. After waiting 6000 years, any time is a good time. Unless he was wrong, because if he was just being conceited, and Crowley didn’t actually love him back, he was on the fast track to ruining their entire relationship. He also knows he’s being ridiculous, and it’s his turn to take a risk, but if it was all true, his heart would break. 

He tries his best to shake away those thoughts, tries to think of the best time to tell Crowley, where he would tell him, how Crowley would react. Unfortunately, every time he tries, doubt crawls up his veins, over his shoulder and whispers in his ear with voices all too familiar. Sometimes it’s Gabriel’s, at times it’s Michael’s, but worst of all is when it’s Crowley’s. 

_ You’re the opposition you know.  _

“But there is no opposition, not anymore, it’s only us. We're on our own side.”

_ That’s what you think, _

“That’s what I know, Crowley told me himself.”

_ Do you really think he could love you? _

“…”

_ Really, think about it. You’re soft, both figuratively and literally. You’ve indulged in so much pleasure, it’s a wonder you aren’t Fallen.  _

Aziraphale can’t help but look in a mirror and think, “How  _ could _ anyone love me?”

And doubt whispers, in that oh-so-familiar voice, those words that still aren’t forgotten. 

_ Getting a bit full of ourselves, huh angel? _

Aziraphale can’t ask. He’s too scared he knows the answer. Too convinced he does. He starts to fold in on himself, his insecurities and his doubts filling his entire being. So it’s no wonder Crowley can sense something is wrong. “Angel, are you alright?”

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, starled, “What? Yes, of course, why do you ask?”

Crowley doesn’t look convinced as he furrows his brows, “You’ve been staring at your crepe for five minutes now. Is something wrong with it?”

“Oh, no, nothing is wrong dear. It tastes delicious. Thank you for asking.” Trying to prove his point, and avoid any other questions, he puts another bite in his mouth.

Crowley stares at him, then leans back in his chair and looks away. “Okay,” he says so quietly, Aziraphale isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it. He pretends he doesn’t. Just like he pretends not to notice how Crowley hasn’t touched him in the past week. 

It’s uncomfortably silent between the two of them before Crowley speaks up again, “I don’t think I’ll be able to come to the bookshop for a few days.”

“What?” Aziraphale starts to panic, did he do something? “Why? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I just have something big planned out. Something in America. I’ll be over there for awhile, making preparations.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale pretends not to notice the obvious lie. “Well, I must disapprove. But good luck.”

He pretends that it doesn’t fuel his doubts that much more.

* * *

It’s become worse, lately. Aziraphale would have to be a proper fool not to notice it. Crowley was clearly avoiding him. He had thousands of excuses, plenty of schemes he was cooking up in places anywhere and everywhere but Europe. At this point, they haven’t seen each other in a week. Not to mention that all physical contact had stopped between them. In fact, Crowley seemed to be keeping his distance at every possible chance. 

Sure, Crowley is currently on his way to the bookshop so they could have their weekly dinner together, but Aziraphale can’t bring himself to feel excited about it. They used to have dinner together several times a week, but now it feels like a weekly obligation. They have an unspoken agreement not to go to the Ritz, it seems wrong to go there with such a sour mood. Apparently Crowley is taking him to some new French restaurant, very popular, very classy. Aziraphale is very despondent about it all. 

A car honks outside, and Aziraphale looks up. The Bently is waiting. Aziraphale takes a deep breath before leaving the bookshop, taking the time to manually lock the shop door. He finally slides into the car, where Crowley is resolutely looking straight ahead, “Hi.”

Aziraphale tries not to wince at the stiffness of it, “Hello.”

They drive to the restaurant in silence, and even when they do arrive their conversation is tense and light.

“How have you been?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley seems surprised and uncomfortable, “Oh, good, good. You?”

“Just the same,” Aziraphale replies with a tight smile. 

_ Better without you, perhaps? _

Aziraphale dismisses the doubt. It really can’t make him feel any worse. They don’t touch each other, not at dinner, definitely not on the car ride back to the bookshop. Aziraphale feels like every muscle in his body is tense, and is extremely tired. He can sense Crowley is tired as well. Not through any type of power, but just from knowing Crowley for such a long time. 

As the Bentley pulls up to the bookshop, Aziraphale is so grateful to be home, and out of the car. He practically scrambles out of the car, but hesitates to shut the door behind him. He’s finally free of the uncomfortable environment, yet he still wants to spend more time with Crowley. He turns around and bends down, peering into the car, “Do you want to come in? Have a drink?”

Crowley doesn’t, or perhaps can’t, mask his surprise. “Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” Aziraphale steps back and shuts the door to let Crowley park while he unlocks the bookshop door. 

They sit in the office area of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the same place they did when Crowley first convinced Aziraphale to try and prevent Armageddon. Bottles decorate the shelves and floor and every available surface once again. With silence hanging in the air between them, it doesn’t take long until they’re both properly drunk, slightly miserable, but they’re together, which makes it a bit better and very bittersweet. 

Crowley’s sitting on the ground again, and Aziraphale wishes he would at least sit closer to him. The thought is followed by a wave of doubts, crashing into him without a barrier due to alcohol. It fills Aziraphale and seeps out of him, and Crowley is overwhelmed with feelings of doubt and guilt. He watches Aziraphale, sees him miserable, and makes up his mind.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale is snapped out of his thoughts and looks at Crowley in the eyes. “Oh, yes dear?”

Crowley starts getting up, which is hard when you’re drunk, and even harder when you really don’t want to leave, “Angel I’m, I’ll leave. I’m leaving.”

Something in Aziraphale urges him to ask, “Where are you going?” Maybe it’s just curiosity, maybe it’s desperation to have more time with him.

Crowley is stumbling as he stands, “I, I don’t know. But I won’t be here. I promise. We’ll have some space.”

That hurts. It stings like rubbing salt into an open wound, like having the breath knocked out of you. He’s leaving, and Aziraphale really has no right to stop him. If anything this proves it, this is just more proof for his theory that it’s all in his head. Who would want to be around such a failure of a being? “Of course, my dear boy. Have a nice night.” He keeps his words short, fearing emotion might seep into his voice if he speaks much more.

“Right, right, you too.” Crowley stares at a bottle of wine, almost as if he’s debating on taking it with him, before he starts to head towards the door.

Aziraphale has had a bit too much alcohol, is a bit too sad, a bit too unreasonable, and that’s probably why as he sees Crowley stand in the doorway he blurts out “I’m sorry.”

Crowley whips around, and consequently has to grab the doorframe to balance himself and not fall on his face, “Wha-?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry dear I’m so, so sorry, oh-” Aziraphale has to stop himself as he wipes some tears off of his face.

Crowley rushes over and almost trips over his own feet, but it doesn’t matter because he’s kneeling on the ground in front of Aziraphale, hands on Aziraphale’s knees, looking up at him. Through blurry eyes Aziraphale sees the bottles around the room miraculously refill and feels Crowley stop swaying. Aziraphale’s eyes are swimming but Crowley is finally touching him again and Crowley’s reaching out to wipe the tears from his eyes-

Aziraphale slaps his hands away. He pushes Crowley away, and he goes crashing to the ground, as Aziraphale quickly withdraws his hands, “You- you can’t. Don’t, don’t touch the tears they- it’ll hurt, maybe do more than just hurt.” He starts rubbing his eyes furiously, a futile effort as the tears keep on coming.

Aziraphale can’t see Crowley, but he can hear the confusion in his voice, “Wha- Angel what are you-”

Aziraphale is wiping away more tears in-between waving his hands around, gesturing in ways that don’t make sense. “I’m an  _ angel _ dear, my tears, well, why do you think that holy water I gave you was ‘the holiest’?” He tries his best not to sniffle, it’s undignified, but he really doesn’t feel well and his tears keep falling, even as he wipes more and more away. “I’m- I’m sorry my dear, I’m so sorry I’ve made things so, so wrong between us. This is, it’s all my fault.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, too much in fact, “Angel, stop, what are you even talking about?”

“I love you.”

It’s blurted out so abruptly, it doesn’t feel real. Crowley’s hopes are raised to Heavenly levels, he feels so happy, and then he catches himself, and what this situation is, and his hopes crash back down to the ground, back to reality. Crowley’s still sprawled out on the ground from when Aziraphale pushed him away, so he starts to get up. He kneels in front of Aziraphale again, hand hovering over the angel’s knee until he puts it back on his own knee. “Aziraphale, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“Wha-?”

Crowley won’t look at him. “I’m sorry that you found out about my feelings, I honestly wasn’t sure how long we’d be able to go on before you found out; but I don’t want you to feel like you have to reciprocate them. We can just, be like we’ve always been.”

“Huh? No, no Crowley, that’s not what--”

“You’re drunk Aziraphale, so I understand that this idea came to mind and seemed like a good one but, but you really don’t have to. It’s, it’s actually better if you don’t.”

“Wha- no!” Aziraphale grabs a nearby empty bottle and shoves it in Crowley’s face so he can watch as it miraculously refills. Aziraphale is no longer drunk so his confidence fades, but he’s far too deep to back out now. When the bottle is full again, he sets it down and reaches out for Crowley, pausing just short of touching him, feeling the tears are still wet on his hands. 

“Crowley, I’m not lying to you, I’m not making anything up,  _ I love you. _ ” Aziraphale feels his cheeks start to heat up as more tears stream down them. He’s overwhelmed, “I mean, really, I’m not so cruel as to lie to you about something as important as this. I’m still an angel after all, and what do you mean I found out about your feelings? Do you have feelings for me? Because I’ve been worrying about that for far too long-”

Crowley surges forward and grabs Aziraphale’s face, kissing him. It’s a kiss that starts out soft and unsure, but after a moment, it feels like being free, as both parties think  _ finally _ . They relax as the kiss deepens, and it tastes like alcohol and tears.

Aziraphale gasps and pushes Crowley away again, “The! My tears, my dear you have to, you’re going to be hurt- discorporated!”

Aziraphale is babbling and shouting and tears are welling up again out of sheer panic. Crowley shushes him, holding his face and brushing away unshed tears, “Angel, you can’t hurt me,” he whispers. “You couldn’t even if you tried.” 

He kisses him again softly, reassuringly, and Aziraphale melts into it, both of them going in for another one, and another one. The kisses become more desperate, more fulfilling. It’s 6000 years of yearning finally coming to fruition, it’s as satisfactory as biting into a juicy apple. And it’s nothing compared to the things Aziraphale has daydreamed about. 

It’s at least thirty minutes later, and they somehow moved to the backroom without ever letting go of each other. They’re both on the couch, their collars undone, and slightly out-of-breath. Crowley is practically on top of Aziraphale, and neither of them really mind. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.” Aziraphale murmurs, playing with and running his fingers through Crowley’s hair idly.

“Yes, but it can wait until morning.” Crowley lets out a yawn to prove his point. They both know he doesn’t need to yawn, he just does it for the effect.

It doesn’t matter either way, because it works. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale stops carding his finger through the bright red hair. Crowley starts to reluctantly get up and is stopped when Aziraphale lightly grabs his arm. “I don’t suppose you’d want to spend the night here? It is very late after all.”

Crowley smiles, “Angel, there’s nothing I’d rather do more.”

Aziraphale smiles back, and he knows he could just snap his fingers and they’d be in bed, but there’s something fun about doing things the human way. So he quickly sweeps Crowley up into his arms, and starts walking towards the bedroom. Crowley is surprised, but after the initial shock wears off he laughs the entire time, wrapping his arms around the angel’s neck and holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for the Good Omens Big Bang 2019!  
> Everything written here is absolutely only possible because of the wonderful mods of the event and my amazing teammates.  
> If you liked even a single line, phrase, or idea in this fic, please think of my teammates:  
> Artist: eliod-art  
> Podfic Reader: xofemeraldstars  
> Beta: nieded

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] What Makes An Angel Good?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605454) by [ofEmeraldStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofEmeraldStars/pseuds/ofEmeraldStars)




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